By Any Other Name
by Ars Longa
Summary: Are you a Kyp Durron's fan who is tired of the way NJO authors are treating him? This saga is for you. It's long, it's hard, and it's not your average 'Kyp's story' type. Updated 05.29.06 two chapters added! Don't miss the author's notes.
1. prologue

_**Disclaimer: I don't own any characters created by official SW authors. I think you can recognize them all. I own the characters created by me. If you want to use them, ask.**_

* * *

**_Prologue_******

* * *

_**Kel Ahnr's music recording studio, Coruscant, 25 years after battle on Yavin**_

* * *

Kel Ahnr, a tall, gangly humanoid, was pacing nervously across the floor of his studio. Kel's appearance made his pacing a sight to behold. He had long, gangly legs with big, flat feet that had a propensity to get caught in just about anything. His equally long hands, currently being used for excited gesticulation, made being in close proximity to him a health hazard. The large, round purple eyes, set on a grayish-white face under the short, feathery, ash-colored hair, held a desperate expression.

"Did that blasted man just dump himself into a black hole? He was supposed to be here three hours ago!" he screamed.

"You know, Kel," said a blue-skinned Twi'lek woman who was circling the room, arranging cables with practised, absentminded movements. "I honestly doubt that even a black hole could delay him for a whole three hours…so don't tie your jiffies in a bow. He'll be here."

"I don't have jiffies," the humanoid answered morosely.

"Mate, this is way more information about your anatomy that I wanted to have!" laughed the Twi'lek. "But the gist is still the same."

The studio existed in a state of perpetual, habitual chaos. It was truly surprising that so few people managed to achieve the existing level of cacophony and frenzied movement, yet they did that on a regular basis. There were six of them: five musicians in the various stages of tuning their instruments and arranging their chairs, notepads and other belongings to their satisfaction, and one very irate producer-cum-owner of the studio.

A dark haired man, seated nearby, looked up from the kitara he had been lovingly tuning.

"Kel," he said with a sigh. "You're getting twice as much credits out of this project than you would from anyone else. One would think you could show some respect and patience, if only honoring your beloved _lahve._"

The musician returned to his instrument. He was human, with a distinctive-looking face – long and lean, with razor-prominent cheekbones, small, rather thin, but attractively curved lips, and beautiful long hazel eyes rimmed with thick dark lashes, set around a sizeable, but somehow fitting, beak-like nose. Hair from a dark brown fringe fell over his brow and tickled his eyes as he leaned forward over his instrument, making him appear a good ten years younger than his apparent thirty-something age. Benevolent amusement was so firmly etched into an every feature of his unique face that it was difficult to imagine it holding any other expression.

Kel dropped into one of the two available chairs in the room and hung his head.

"Easy for you to say, Tan," he complained. "You're not the one who has to explain to that mob we call our free mass-media _why_ we're releasing this album three weeks after the announced date. Again."

From across the room, a third voice joined the conversation. "Can you guys be just a little bit louder, for Force's sake! Some of us aren't quite dead yet. A little more volume should do the trick."

The obviously miserable youth propped his blond head on one of his hands, as if it was too heavy for his neck, and looked upon his flute, which was still resting in its opened case before him, with the bloodshot blue eyes that held such a disgusted suspicion in them as if it was an unexpected gift from his mother-in-law.

The man at the keybed snorted. "My, Lint, aren't we cranky today. What happened? Studied a little too long in 'The Library' last night?"

The other musicians laughed. 'The Library' was a students' nightclub, especially favored by the attendees of the Coruscant School of Music due to its close proximity to the campus.

"Well, I suppose you can ask our esteemed lead singer to help you with your problem – when he finally decides to grace us with his presence," a male Twi'lek suggested. He was sitting behind the complicated arrangement of two large and three small drums and various metallic disks, idly twirling two-headed wooden sticks in his fingers. "I'd rather use Zeltcar, personally…two pills and a glass of water, and you'll be in no danger of popping your eyes from their sockets while playing."

Lint scowled at them, holding his aching head, which only served to amplify their laughter.

"Stop laughing, you morons!" he shouted, instantly regretting the action as a jolt of pain shot from behind his eyes to the base of his neck. "It's not like you've never been in my place. And I'm allergic to Zeltcar, or I would have used it already. I'm _not _enjoying myself, as you can very well imagine."

Lint's colleagues at last took pity on him and returned to their respective instruments. The room had quieted somehow. Kel was still sitting in the chair in the same hopelessness incarnate pose, likely rehearsing what he would say to 'the mob'. The beak-nosed man was playing a low-key monotonous melody on his kitara, staring at the wall in front of him as if trying to see what was laying ten steps behind it. A silent, grim-looking old man at the keybed played counterpoint just as absentmindedly. The air in the room was thick with expectation.

The old-fashioned door swung open. The silhouette that appeared in the doorway wasn't unusual. It was a man, just a bit above average height, with a lithe, lean body and relatively broad shoulders. A cape he wore obscured the further details, and a hood hid his face.

In the next moment, the man stepped into the studio, closing the door behind himself and shedding his cape with a practiced grace. His presence, it seemed, made the air hum, as if someone opened a can of energy and poured it into the room.

"Durron!" the producer shouted with a mix of ire and relief, leaping from his chair. "So you decided to show up at last, blast you!"

The Jedi held his hand up, annoyance written on his face. "Kel, would you mind to shut the kriff up!"

Kyp tossed his cape over the vacant chair and glowered back at the producer. "Can I humbly remind you that you are not supposed to call me by this name here? Or would you like a more substantial reminder, like, for example, the one that's written in our contract?"

The producer stopped mid-rant, with his mouth hanging open and his lungs full of air. He slowly let the air escape, and snapped his mouth shut. "Right, sorry. But you _are _late."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Kel," Kyp said sweetly. "Next time _you _can tell Luke Skywalker I can't meet with him because I have to be at yourstudio recording my third album."

When Kel remained silent, Kyp nodded. "Now, shall we continue to discuss my lack of discipline, or should we get on with it? I only have three, four days tops, to get this done. Everybody's ready?"

"Not exactly…" It was Lint. He managed to raise his head from his hands and was looking at Kyp with the blue bloodshot eyes, wearing a poor little pitten expression all over his face.

"What the…" Kyp's brow furrowed as he studied the fluteplayer. "Oh, got it. Studied at 'The Library' again, I presume? And long and hard, too, by the look of it."

Lint glared. "Well, will you do something? Or, I'm warning you, you will be one poor flutist short at this rehearsal. Right now to be dead I need only to take a deep breath."

"Take Zeltcar."

"Oh, not you too," the young man complained. "I'm allergic to the sithin' stuff. Can you do something, or do I need to call for a coffin?"

Kyp rolled his eyes and placed his fingers on Lint's temples. After a couple of minutes Lint's greenish complexion gradually changed to a pink color more suited to a human being. The Jedi Master took his hands off the blonde head and massaged his fingers.

"Lint, if you just managed to remember about your work and not get tanked out of your brain…"

"Blah-blah-blah…" Lint muttered, blinking away the last vestiges of his headache. "You know, the fact that you didn't even know what a nightclub was when you were eighteen doesn't mean anybody else shouldn't have fun, too."

"Kid, you are hopeless," Kyp said with a shake of his head. "And just for the record, I _did_ know what a nightclub was when I was eighteen, and not only in theory."

He went to one of the studio's walls and picked up the black case that was propped against it. Inside, on the green velvet bed, rested a beautiful mahogany kitara with intertwined silver letters R and S inscribed on its front deck. Kyp propped one leg on the chair that Kel had vacated and began to tune it. He glanced up as the Twi'lek woman brushed past him. "Firana, quit your quest for cable net perfection and take your viola.Let's begin."

"If you all are ready, then I'm off to the sound center," Kel said.

Kyp nodded distractedly. He was already drifting to another dimension, where existed only he, his fellow musicians and the music they were creating.

"May the Force be with us all," Kel muttered as he let himself out. He hoped that now he would be able to present the much-anticipated third album of Rodion Segan in time.

**

* * *

**

**Trivia for the Part 1.**

**  
**If you are interested how I see the main characters in this story, well, I can tell you, I did pick up the faces for all of them. So, let's begin the list with Kyp – Billy Crudup. If you recognized whom I used as a model for Tan, take one cookie. Others probably should look for pictures of Peter Wingfield on google. I'll list others in the order of their appearance in the story. Some of the faces don't belong to actors; I found them on various photo sites. I have them posted on my ftp, but, alas, this server doesn't allow links. If you're interested in seeing them, e-mail me and I'll send you the link.Kyp's artistic name was a bit of inspiration. I actually planned it for other character, but one day my beta Abby introduced me to the web source for names and their meanings. When I looked what Rodion means (it's Russian, by the way) it said: Rodion - From the Greek name Herodes, which probably means "song of the hero" from heros "hero, warrior" combined with oides "song, ode". I found it astonishingly appropriate for Kyp. Pronunciation: RO-DEE-ON, stress on the last O. That name also has a connotation that would be appropriate for Kyp. Did you read "Crime and Punishment"? Main hero's name in this book is Rodion.

Most of the songs in the first half or so of this story belong to Celtic group Capercaillie. And yes, I know that their lead singer is a woman. But I think a man can sing these songs just as well. In future I'll be giving you names for each song that got incorporated into this story.


	2. Part 1

**Part 1** _

* * *

**Outside of Kel Ahnr's studio, Coruscant, 6 hours later.**_

* * *

"Rodi?"

"We are out of the studio, Tan."

"Right. I'm always forgetting. How do you remember which one of your names to use in each situation?"

"Long practice. What's up, do you need something?"

Tannith scuffed his boot against the duracrete and smiled, showing slightly uneven white teeth. "Just a ride home, if you can. My speeder is getting intimate with the mechanics right now."

Kyp snickered. "Gang rape? What did you do to the poor vehicle now?"

"Forgot to change the cooling liquid in time, if you would believe it. And you know I hate cabs. So…"

"No problem. Come on. I had to park a few levels from here for conspiracy purposes." Kyp winked at the other man. "My new speeder is a little too noticeable."

"I bet," Tannith smirked. He easily fell in step alongside Kyp; hands in pockets, shoulders hunched. The musician actually was a bit taller than the Jedi, but his habitual relaxed slouch made them even. "You are rather noticeable yourself. You're not afraid someone will recognize you when you're entering the studio?"

"Nobody will recognize me, Tan." Kyp answered simply. "I'm being _very_ careful."

The musician felt a little shiver travel down his spine. Sometimes, after hours spent in studio, making the magic of music come alive together, eating and drinking together, laughing and bantering together, it was all too easy to forget about the immense, dangerous power that man carried inside himself. It was creepy. But if not for Kyp's power, where would be Tannith Leit now? In deep poodoo, no question about that, if not still in jail. _Tan, boy, you are really picking the wrong man to be paranoid about, especially after all these years! _He shook his head slowly. Dark brown hair fell into his eyes and he blew it away, not bothering to take his hands out of his jacket's pockets.

"You know, Kyp, I never even thanked you properly for what you did…" he began hesitantly.

The Jedi stopped and turned to him so abruptly, that his cloak whistled in the still air. Dark eyes – Tan could never decide which color they were, exactly, for they seemed to assume different colors in different kinds of lighting – glared at him from under the hood.

"Don't you even begin!" Kyp wasn't angry, just exasperated. "I did it because I wanted to and for no other reason. You don't owe me anything, even gratitude."

"Sorry," Tannith smiled. "But you know…"

"I know. Let's leave it at that, Tan." They made a dozen more steps. "What brought it up, by the way? It has been a good seven years."

The musician shrugged. "Dunno. It just popped in my head. Probably I'm getting conventional in my old age."

"Yeah, and rancors are beginning to learn how to fly," the Jedi said dryly, but didn't ask anything more.

Silence fell between them. It wasn't awkward; for some reason Tan never felt awkward with the other man and he suspected the Jedi didn't even know the meaning of the word "awkward". Kyp's ever-present self-confidence was something all the band members unconsciously used to rely on. Tannith wasn't an exception, though he was very much aware of it, being acquainted with the younger man for couple of years longer than the others. He, however, tried his best not to become dependent on Kyp emotionally. He has had quite enough of dependence in his life.

"Coruscant to Tannith! Coruscant to Tannith! Come on, snap out of it, whatever it is. We're here."

The musician blinked, looked around and whistled a very expressive harmonic that went from high to low register and died on the note that betrayed his utter astonishment. The sleek, metallic green, silver-detailed speeder was simple and old-fashioned in design, but it was, without any doubt, a very new model, not to mention a custom one. Silver-toned windows obscured the view of the insides of this beauty, but Tannith suspected that its interior had some…additions that didn't come from the maker's assembly line.

Kyp touched something on its side and the door slid open. The Jedi bowed his head and made a grand gesture with his left hand, inviting him in. Tan mimicked a curtsey.

"Thank you, kind sir!" he drawled, imitating a high-pitched woman's voice. "Your generosity truly has no boundaries!"

Kyp laughed, throwing his head back and almost dislodging his hood in the process. "Just get the kriff in already!"

"I live to obey." Tan unceremoniously dropped his butt into a soft leather seat. "Man, you surely don't believe in the virtue of scarcity!"

"I lived in scarcity for years. Found nothing beneficial in it. May as well go for something different." Kyp got into the driver's seat, shook off the hood and started the engine. He was humming.

Tannith suspected that the other man was still on an endorphin high from the successful music session. The Jedi Master rarely looked so relaxed; maybe it was a good time to ask some questions. Not exactly fair to take advantage of his good mood, but hey, life wasn't fair! Then he listened more carefully to what Kyp was humming.

"Kyp?"

"Hmmm?"

"What's the deal with this song? Why you don't want to release it now?"

"I don't know, actually. It's just a feeling."

"Did you have a vision or whatever?"

"Why do you think so?"

"It's different from your usual stuff."

"Not much different. And you know I like experimenting."

"Yes, but it's also… ominous somehow. Like it's not exactly for this time, or this place, or… oh, I got it! It sounds like a song for a war. Battle song. But we don't have any war now, do we?"

"As far as I know, no. Well, aside from the usual troubles. But to answer your question – no, I didn't have any visions about it, you know I rarely do. It just came and refused to be ignored. Let's hope I'll not feel the need to release it."

"Hope so." Tan looked on the other man. Kyp was driving expertly, dodging other vehicles and changing levels and lines despite the fact that his eyes were focused somewhere far ahead.

"Can I ask you something else?"

Kyp turned his head and visibly focused. _Oh-ho, there goes my chance…_ But the Jedi Master just smiled. "You can _ask_."

"Where did you study music? I mean, from what I know of your biography, you didn't have any time to attend any musical institution, but you are obviously very well schooled. Usually someone has to study for about a decade to get to this level…"

"I did."

Tannith waited for couple of minutes, but Kyp didn't offer anything more. The musician sighed and dropped his head on the plush headrest. Well, this puzzle, obviously, would stay unresolved. It buggered him for many years already; he could stand to wait a couple more. Sooner or later, it'll come out. Secrets usually do.

**

* * *

_Solo's apartment, Coruscant, 1 hour later._**

* * *

Kyp closed the door after himself and stayed still in the dark for couple of minutes with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. He liked this smell, the mix of Corellian spices, a faint traces of a light Alderaanian perfume Leia favored, a wooden essence from the carved wall panels that still held the smell despite years of exposure, wisps of mechanic oil and spacecraft antifreeze from some obscure parts of some obscure engines scattered carelessly all over the place. It was a scent of home. Not _his_ home, but a home nonetheless and therefore soothing. It was empty now; the kids were on Yavin, Chewie was visiting his family on Kashyyyk and Han and Leia were on some diplomatic mission, which, thankfully, wasn't expected to be either long or dangerous. Han said something about stopping on Yavin 4 for a couple of days after completing the mission. _I should go there for a day or two before I return to my Dozen_, he mused; _we haven't had a chance to talk for quite a while._

"Lights on, half-power." Kyp opened his eyes and took off his cape. He was hungry and tired. Six hours of music session, on top of a day full of running various supply errands for the Dozen, arguing with the contractors and shipmasters… that was enough to drain even his considerable energy stock. Not to mention the talk with Luke, who clearly wasn't happy with him.

Skywalker wasn't complaining, precisely, but he made it very clear that he didn't think Kyp's 'lack of connection' to the other Jedi was an appropriate behavior for a Jedi Master. It was a bit surprising; over the years, Luke should have already become accustomed to his frequent absences. Perhaps he thought Kyp would change his habits after becoming a Master? If it was the case, he was going to be disappointed. Luckily, his former teacher appeared unaware of Kyp's not-so-solitary quest for justice, which also wasn't going to thrill the older Jedi. Kyp managed to divert their conversation from the matter of his current activities, namely the reason why he was on Coruscant. He was acutely aware that he couldn't give the Grand Master an honest answer, and that Luke would surely sense the lie if he tried to fool him. Well, Kyp supposed it was an occupational hazard of living a double life. _You always have to pay for good things. One way or the other. Be happy you have something to pay for._

_So, food, shower, bed._ For a minute here Kyp was tempted to rearrange his order of priorities, but the idea of waking in the middle of a night from the noises in his stomach or from the stink of his unwashed body didn't seem appealing either. So, he took out some frozen entrées and tossed them into a heater. That didn't take long and in a couple of minutes the food was steaming and ready. He ate it absently, propping his head on one hand, eyes half-closed and not even feeling the taste. His previous excitement was wearing off quickly and, as it often happened with him, the gloom began to settle in its place. He quickly threw the dishes in the disintegrator and headed to the shower.

It helped. Kyp was able to understand Luke fully in this respect; for him, too, a hot water shower was still something very close to miracle. They had never had anything that luxurious on Deyer, where energy was always in deficit, and on Kessel hot showers, or, for that matter, any water showers at all were out of a question. Hot water soothed him, relaxed tense muscles in his shoulders and arms and washed away the dirt accumulated during this long day. _If I only could wash away some of my memories with it. I'm tired of remembering. _

Kyp stepped out of shower cabin and stopped before the big, full-height mirror, installed on one of the walls. He took his comb from the stand and ran it through his black, wavy, shoulder-length hair. Then he paused.

He didn't look at himself in a mirror often, not like that, anyway. Sure, he paid attention to his appearance, as anybody who saw his wardrobe would have noticed. He knew he was handsome; he was told that often enough. Appearance could be a weapon; people tended to treat you much better if you were good-looking and your clothes were trendy. He smirked: _Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I was as ugly as a Hutt. Thankfully, I'm not. _But he rarely looked at his mirror double and saw himself, not some image he wanted to project at the time. Kyp put the brush back at its place and moved closer to the reflective glass. He was definitely in a contemplative mood today. Now he was staying eye-to-eye with his image, appraising his naked self like he would have apprised a potential adversary or a potential friend.

"Kyp Durron," he said aloud, looking at himself. "Jedi Master." He raised his hand and traced the silver sparks in his reflection's hair, then the faint lines around his eyes. "Thirty years." He drew his fingers along the contours of his well-muscled shoulders and pectorals. He wasn't like that ten years ago; he was thin then, almost too thin, and gangly. Things changed. He dropped his hand and gave his double one last look.

"You still look good, pal. But know what? You are not young anymore. Well, probably it's for the better." He turned and headed to the guest room and to his much-anticipated bed.

Half an hour later he was still fully awake. Tannith's questions stirred something in him, something that had lay dormant for years. He didn't know which one out of his extensive collection of unpleasant memories it was, but it was boiling just under the surface of his consciousness, something long forgotten and painful. He was afraid to fall asleep, and a trance was out of question; he was on a sleepless regime for too long already. At the end Kyp decided to jump the proverbial blaster and deal with whatever nightmare his memory will manage to drag out at the morning. When he gradually slipped into the reality of a dream, his last conscious thought was: _I knew it would happen!_

He was at Kessel again.

* * *

**_Kessel Prison, 4 years ABY._**

* * *

He was cold and lonely. Very lonely. His parents were killed two weeks ago and he was completely alone, and he still couldn't wrap his mind around that fact. He was hurting and missing them terribly and now he was also weak. After the revolt nobody bothered to feed the inmates for two days and when they did, he managed to get only a little for himself. Someone had thrown him into a wall during this chaotic fight and taken most of his food while he lay dazed on the floor. He was left with only a piece of bread that was in his hand in that moment.

After that things didn't get much better. When guards were looking, he could eat as much as others, but there weren't enough guards these days and they were distracted. And every time they were looking the other way, one man or the other was taking his food, sometimes hitting him if he tried to resist. He was almost constantly dizzy from the hunger now, but he still had to go to the mines and work his shift. Today he barely dragged himself back. He didn't think he would manage it again tomorrow.

And, as if it wasn't enough, these men were _looking_ at him. He couldn't understand the meaning of their looks, but something was telling him that they didn't bode well for his safety. They were looking at him like they wanted something from him and were ready to take this something by force if he wouldn't agree. But what could he give them? He owned nothing!

"Durron!" the inmate who was in charge of all things guards didn't bother themselves with, the _bugor_, called to him. "Collect the dishes and take them to the kitchen."

Kyp looked at him dazedly, then dragged himself upright and went to collect the plates. When he turned to take them to the kitchen, he didn't notice that three of the men who were sitting at his table stood up and followed. One of them mouthed "Thanks!" to the bugor and winked at him.

He also didn't notice that the man who was sitting two tables from them lifted his head and looked at the trio. He frowned, then took a piece of bread from his plate and stood up. "I'll take the dishes," he said to his bugor, receiving a nod in agreement.

Kyp put the stack of the plates in one of the sinks and turned back. The world around him was draped in a thick grey mist and the only thing he was able to do was just dragging his legs forward; left, then right, then left again and somehow managing not to stumble. So he didn't even realize what was happening when he was suddenly dragged into the small empty room halfway between the kitchen and the mess hall. He opened his mouth to cry, but someone's big palm covered half of his face with such force that he couldn't take a breath, much less make a sound. Then the palm lifted a little, but as soon as he opened his mouth again another hand expertly stuffed a piece of a dirty rag in it. Kyp's hands were dragged up his back and held there and his head was pushed down. Cold, hard fingers fumbled with his pants, trying to take them down, gripping his buttocks painfully. Kyp kicked the one who did it, or tried to, but all it earned him was a hard slap to his face with a half-opened hand, almost noiseless, but hard enough to nearly make him black out.

"Be quiet!" someone snapped and the hands returned again. Kyp saw a swarm of golden flecks invade his vision, dancing before his eyes, calling to him, teasing him, and he was falling, falling into a bottomless black whirlwind, almost nothing, almost there, almost…

"Leave the kid alone!" a deep, metallic voice rang painfully in his head. "I said, **_hands off!_**"

The hands that were on his ass retreated, the other hand that was holding his arms freed them, and Kyp sagged on the cold floor, half-unconscious. He couldn't see anything, the golden moths still danced merrily in the darkness before his eyes, but he could hear.

"It's not your business, _labuh_!" one of Kyp's attackers snarled.

"I'm making it my business," the metallic voice said. "This boy is _mine_."

"You son of a stinking she-Hutt!" the one that was closer to Kyp hissed. "I'll get you for this!"

"In your dreams. Do you really want to get in trouble with me?"

Silence.

"Thought so. Get the kriff out."

Retreating steps.

"Kid?" Someone was working the gag out of his mouth. "Don't faint on me. Breathe."

Kyp obeyed. After a couple of deep breaths, his vision cleared and even his head wasn't hurting. Much. Now he was able to see who saved him. It was a big man, very tall, very broad-shouldered, with the big, long-fingered hands and a roguish, wrinkled face under the curly ebony hair, generously sparkled with silver. Kyp remembered that he had seen this man before, and that for some unknown reason the other prisoners and even guards treated him with more respect than they treated most others. Then Kyp recalled what the stranger had said just couple of minutes before: "This boy is mine!" _His? _He didn't like the sound of it.

"What do you want from me?" Kyp asked warily.

The big man laughed and gave him a piece of bread. "Nothing, kid. Absolutely nothing. Eat and let's go out of here."


	3. Part 2

**Part 2**

* * *

_**Yavin 4, Jedi Academy, 2 weeks later**_

* * *

Music filled this part of old Massassi temple. A clear, flowing sound of viola intertwined with an intricate, passionate kitara caressed the old stones, and the drums' rhythm was beating inside the thick walls like a giant heart. Then a clear, high male voice began to sing, from time to time joined with others, one male and one female. In the small conference room, two doors from the source of the sound, Luke Skywalker raised his head and looked at his brother-in-law over the datapad they were studying with a slightly irritated expression in his big blue eyes. Han smirked.

"It's not that I don't like this music," Luke said defensively, "I would just like to hear something different from time to time. Silence, for example."

Han nodded sympathetically. "Tell that to the father of three teenagers. At least she's listening to some stuff that sounds decent."

The Jedi made a face. "I'm the one who has to live with your teenagers most of the time. But a little more of that obsession and I'll begin to fear for the fate of my marriage. Do you know what she did after the release of his second album?"

"No, tell me." Han visibly perked. Nothing was as exciting as a good blackmail material, especially on the family members.

"She wrote a letter to him. I don't even want to know what she said in it. And to his official open HoloNet address, no less. She was sulking for a week when all she got in response was a standard letter of appreciation from his producer."

"But I bet you felt slightly relieved, didn't you, kid?" Han asked with an openly teasing smile.

Luke sighed. "To tell the truth, I did. Until two days ago, when this blasted package arrived. He sent his new album to her, personally, one week before the official release date and with a thank-you note to boot." Luke's still boyish face cringed, making the usually unnoticeable wrinkles painfully apparent. "These poor walls will begin to crumple very soon at this rate. I'm starting to have very unbecoming thoughts toward Mirax and Iella."

Han leaned back on his chair. "They hooked her into it?" Luke nodded. "Well, at least you're not alone. I imagine Wedge and Corran can share your pain." He shook his head in disbelief. "Mara Jade Skywalker as a devoted fan girl. And I thought the strangest thing in this galaxy would be Jabba the Hutt in a pink underwear."

"Gossiping behind my back, Solo? How very manly."

Luke and Han sat shock-still for a moment then both of them slowly turned to one of the doors. And of course, there stood Mara Jade Skywalker, the former Imperial assassin, in all her glory – legs braced, hands on her hips and clearly furious.

Luke made a placating gesture with his hands and assumed his best innocent expression. "Mara, honey, I was just expressing my concern over your precious sanity to Han. Next thing I know you will be ordering tunics with Segan's name on the 'Net and writing passionate love letters to him."

Mara made a move at his direction. Han quickly jumped on the table and did his humble best to pretend he was not even here. Luke quickly put himself behind a chair.

"Just remember, Mara, aggression is of the Dark Side!" he cried with exaggerated terror in his voice, all horrified shaking and wide-opened eyes.

Mara stopped and looked at him thoughtfully. "You know, Skywalker, I may consider to put these ideas of yours to practice. Maybe not about the tunics - not exactly my style, but about the love letters, certainly." She stopped and corrected herself. "_Passionate_ love letters." She looked absolutely serious, without any trace of humor in her voice or facial expression.

_Uh-oh. That was probably a bit overboard._ Luke frantically tried to find some words to calm his irate wife, but he was saved by another voice, sardonic and very amused.

"I wouldn't be that eager in your place, Jade. What if this guy is a major jerk?"

Luke didn't even have the time to feel the relief. Mara turned on her heels and released all her irritation, clearly glad to find a suitable target. "Listen, Durron, just because _you_ are a major jerk, doesn't mean everybody else is! At least _he_ didn't destroy a star system!" Mara turned and stormed out, leaving three stunned men in her wake.

"Yep, I know I'm pretty unique. Three star systems, but who is counting," Kyp said to her retreating back. He turned to the other two in the room. "What's up with her? Dark Side? Toothache? PMS?"

"Don't ask," Han sighed and jumped from the table. "That was Mara Jade in the fan girl mode. Seems that it's a relatively new development. I think I liked her more as a heartless assassin." Han shivered and decided to change the topic of conversation. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you, actually. Force knows when I'll find some free time again."

Han was glad to hear it. It was nice to know that Kyp still considered him a close friend. Aloud he said "We are not finished here yet, but…"

"That's all right," Kyp interrupted him. "I was going to head for the jungle for a couple of hours. I kind of missed getting in touch with the nature. Thought I would go to the Halfmoon Lake."

"It's a long walk from here to the lake, Kyp. Aren't you tired? How long were you in the hyperspace?" Luke asked.

"I'll manage." Kyp waived his concern aside. Luke couldn't help but notice that the other man didn't answer his question. _Kyp Durron and his little secrets,_ Luke thought resignedly. Not for the first time he wondered where and when did he make a mistake and lost the trust of his pupil. It was an old issue, the one he mulled over countless times. He couldn't remember the last time Kyp visited the praxeum not to see Dorsk or Clighal, but to talk to him. Once upon a time he thought Kyp Durron would be his greatest student. He couldn't say that Kyp didn't fulfill his expectations on the 'greatest' part, but did he still have any rights to call Kyp his, Luke Skywalker's, student? Did he ever?

The door suddenly burst open and Jaina Solo run into the room, her brother Anakin on her heels. "Dad!" she began excitedly and then she noticed the other occupants of the room. "Oh, hi, Kyp! What are you doing here?"

He looked at her with the almost believable expression of long-suffering patience. "Visiting, of course. What else? Hi, Anakin."

A loud drum solo from the hallway didn't allow Anakin to answer the greeting. Jaina, her reasons for coming clearly forgotten, cocked her head to the side. "Is that this singer aunt Mara was raving about?"

Right at that moment the song came to the end. Luke sighed with relief, but after the short break the music began again. This time it was a different song, much quicker, with a strong, very distinctive energetic beat. The singer began to sing in some unknown language with the short, rhymed verses. Jaina made a face.

"What, you don't like it, Jaya?" Anakin asked her mockingly. "Oh, I forgot, no dancing pretty boys here!"

Jaina rolled her eyes and tried to whack her brother on the head, which was a hard task, since he was a good head taller than her.

"Well, at that note I'll leave you. Literally," Kyp said. "Han, I'll be in my room when I return. Comm me."

"I'll find you." Han looked distracted. Kyp closed the door behind himself, but Han stood still, looking at the place the black-haired Jedi had occupied a moment ago.

"Dad? **_Dad!_**" Jaina's voice eventually returned him to the life.

"Oh? Sorry, sweetheart. I was just thinking."

* * *

_**Yavin 4, Jedi Academy, 7 hours later**_

* * *

Kyp was tired, but it was a pleasant tiredness of the well-used and well-relaxed muscles. He managed to get to the lake in just two hours, walking the first half of the way and running the second, repeating the pattern on his way back. The lake was just as he remembered it – beautiful. It was supplied by underground streams, so the water was always crystal clear and just a little bit colder than in most other lakes on this part of Yavin 4. Due to some minerals in the soil that made its bottom, the water also held an unusual, darkish blue color. Add to that a golden sandy beach and a luscious green of surrounding jungles, and it was pretty close to Kyp's vision of an ideal place for relaxation, minus various unpleasant species of Yavin IV wildlife. He knew how to deal with them, though. Kyp took his time at the lake, not bothering with the clothes, swimming in the pleasantly cool, soft water, then just laying on the hot, thin sand, not thinking, not remembering, not meditating… just being, here and now; just one of the creatures of the forest.

_Well, it beats meditation hands down, but I'll have a Sith's time getting all this sand out of my hair. Remember, paying for all good things? _Kyp smiled to himself and opened the door to his room.

Han Solo was sitting in one of the two comfortable chairs that stood on either side of the low, round caf-table, which was now decorated with a large bottle of Corellian brandy and two glasses. The window was right behind the aging smuggler and a soft pink-orange pre-dusk light lit a bright halo around his head, almost completely obscuring his face.

"You were supposed to comm me," Kyp said mildly. Something was off. He didn't know what, but something definitely was. And, Han Solo being Han Solo, this something could have been absolutely anything. _Good-bye, relaxation, _Kyp thought resignedly. _You just have to have friends as unpredictable as you are._

"I changed my mind." Han took the bottle and popped the cork out. "Close the blasted door, Kyp." Kyp complied. "Or should I say, Rodion?"

The Jedi froze. _That_ he didn't expect. Thinking logically, if someone could figure him out, it had to be Han. The former smuggler knew him better than almost anyone else did. Kyp snorted. _Did I just put the words 'logic' and 'Han Solo' in one sentence?_ Still, it was unexpected. Why now? Kyp began to panic a little. He wasn't ready to go on the open with his secrets. _Stall him. Think. _

"Han, I just ran the Force knows how many kilometers through the jungle. I'm sweaty, I'm stinky and I have about half of a ton of sand in my hair. Can it wait until I take a shower?"

"Nope." Han poured the brandy into the glasses. "If I allow you to take the shower you'll just try to invent some silly story to feed me, which I won't believe anyway and we'll be back to the round one. You can just as well save your breath. Time to face the music, kid." Han smirked. "That pun was not intended. Sit. I would hate to see this brandy wasted, _Rodion_."

"Rodi," Kyp corrected him absentmindedly.

"Huh?"

Kyp tiredly rubbed his face with his hand and ungraciously dropped himself into the second chair. "'Rodion' is a mouthful. Most people who know me under this name just call me Rodi. All right," he said, taking the glass. "But you go first. How did you manage to figure this out?"

"First of all, if you want to keep it secret you should probably consider starting to wear gloves." Han reached across the table and took Kyp's left hand, turning it in such manner that Kyp could see his own fingertips. "These calluses are pretty much self-explanatory. I'm surprised that nobody noticed them before. Mara probably would have, if she wasn't so busy despising you."

Kyp snorted. "Gloves. You know, this idea has some merit. Skywalker wears his on the right hand. I can wear mine on the left one and someone will have a field day trying to understand the vast symbolism of all this crap. Balancing the Force and all that. Right. What's second?"

"Kid, I'm a Corellian. Sure, by the Corellian standards I'm tone-deaf, but my ears are good enough to recognize a song if I heard it before. Even if it was fourteen years ago and the person singing it was more humming than singing."

"Oh," Kyp said helplessly. "I was sure you forgot about that. You never asked before."

"You were fidgety like a spongeworm on a frying pan when you realized I heard you. I didn't want to spook you even more by asking about it back then. Soon after that I took you to Yavin and…"

"And everything went straight to the Sarlacc hole. Yes."

Han cringed. "Your comparisons leave a lot to be desired."

"Likewise. Spongeworm, huh?"

Han had to concede on this. "But you had to at least consider I would remember it. Why did you include it in your album and, by the way, why did you sent it to Mara? You had to realize I would hear it sooner or later. One would think you _wanted_ me to find out."

"Don't get psychological on me, Han!" Kyp answered darkly. "Like I said, I was sure you forgot all about it. It was fourteen years ago, for Force's sake! And about sending the album to Mara… you didn't hear the lecture Skywalker gave me the last time on Coruscant! I was just getting even with him. I thought it would be a perfect revenge."

Han laughed. "It surely is." He raised his glass in a salute. "Well done, Durron. But you didn't answer one of my questions."

"Why I included it in this album, right? It was one of Rurik's favorites. I try to include one or two of his songs in each of my albums. As a tribute, I guess."

"Stop right here. Who is this Rurik person?"

Kyp raked both hands through his hair, wincing when sand fell on his face and shoulders. Then he took a deep breath. "Was, Han, not is. He was my father. Well, my second father, anyway."

Han was shocked into the silence by these words. _The kid had someone **that** important in his life and never even breathed a word to any of us? You secretive little bantha flea!_

Kyp used this short break in the interrogation to shed his sweat-soaked sleeveless top and now was wiping the sand from his face and shoulders with it. Finishing that, he threw the dirty garment in a corner and tried to make himself comfortable. He drew his legs up and rested his hands on the raised knees, linking his fingers in a lock. He got accustomed to this pose on Kessel, where the only available place to sit was in the corner of his bunk. When he turned his head back to Han he saw that the other man was looking at him with a very strange expression on his face.

"What?" Kyp said a little defensively.

"Nothing. You just reminded me of one of my favorite paintings right now."

"Which one is that?"

"'Sitting Demon'. I doubt you know it. It's Corellian."

"I don't. What is a 'demon'? I heard this word, but can't remember the meaning."

"Mythical creature. Angels and demons. I'll tell you later about it, if you want." Han looked at the Jedi appraisingly. "Kid, you're really looking half-dead…"

"Told you so."

"Shut up. I sense there is more to that story than I thought." Kyp nodded. "Take your shower and go to the bed. We'll talk tomorrow. You are not getting out of this."

"I don't intend to, Han. How about we go to the Halfmoon Lake tomorrow? At least I'll not be worried about someone overhearing us there."

Han glanced at him suspiciously. "I hope you are not expecting me to hike all the way to it through the jungle?"

Kyp snorted. "Getting old, Han? We can take one of the speeders. I'll not get us directly to the lake, but close enough that you'll not strain your legs."

"See you at nine hundred in the hangar then. G'nite."

"Night, Han."

_**

* * *

**_

Yavin 4, Halfmoon Lake, next morning.

* * *

"This was not a bad idea, kid. This place is perfect."

Han Solo shook his head, sending a multitude of shining drops of water in all directions. He was reluctant to get out of the eerie blue water. Their trip to the lake hadn't been too rough, just as Kyp had promised, but still, an hour in the ground speeder and then a hike through the jungle in Yavin IV heat made him want to take residence in their cooler. Unfortunately, the aforementioned item was quite full with the food and drinks, not to mention it was of insufficient size, so Han went for the next best thing – the lake. After some time spent swimming, diving and participating in a lively water-fight with Kyp, he felt twenty years younger and a bit foolish. If his kids had seen him splashing water at the other man with such whooping abandon, he would never live it down.

Kyp, however, was quite comfortable with childishness. He got out of the water before Han and was now lying on the sand in a pose that was more suitable for a ten-year-old boy than for an almost thirty-year-old Jedi Master. He was lying on his stomach, bare feet dangling in the air, chin resting on crossed hands. Three little sand-spouts were dancing before him in a complicated pattern. A child's exercise, too, at least for him. It was a little strange to see the intense, often too-somber Kyp Durron so… well, childish. The former smuggler suspected he was the only living being in whose presence the former Kessel slave felt safe enough to behave like the boy he wasn't given a chance to be. Though Han couldn't help but notice that Kyp still had his lightsaber close at hand and, sure enough, Han's old blaster was lying side by side with it. _That's my boy._

"Will you come out of it already or do you want to grow flippers?"

_Heh, some things never change. Like this kid's impatience. _Han got out of the lake and dug two bottles of tonic water out of the cooler. He flopped on the sand just out of the waves' reach, held one of the bottles to Kyp, who had five sand-spouts dancing before him by now, and asked:

"Do you know how to make sand castles?"

"No."

"Come here."

Instead of getting up, the Jedi just rolled over to him and flowed into the sitting position. Sand-spouts twitched one last time and died peacefully.

"So?"

"Dig a hole here like I do."

"Done. Now what?"

"Take some water with sand and drip it little by little… yes, like that. Are you getting the idea?"

"Yes. That's nice."

"Well, now that we have our hands occupied with a perfectly silly task, you can start talking."

Kyp sighed. "I kinda hoped you would change your mind."

"Not a chance, kid. So, Rurik?"

Kyp was silent for a couple of minutes and Han began to fear he would refuse to talk after all, but the other man spoke at last: "Yes, Rurik… Han, you know what Kessel was like. For that matter, you know what almost every penal colony was like back then. How do you think I managed to grow up like that, with my spirit and my soul intact… well, mostly… when you know what was the fate for the children in these colonies? Especially for the children who had a disadvantage of being pretty."

Han sighed: "That's precisely why I never asked you about your life on Kessel. I _did_ have a good idea and I could only admire you even more if you had managed to survive that."

"I didn't, not actually. Rurik saved me from the worst. When my parents were killed…" Kyp stopped for a moment, looking on the fistful of sand in his palm with unseeing eyes. "I don't want to talk about that," he said flatly.

"You don't have to."

Kyp nodded. "Kessel was a mess around that time. You have to understand, things had been quite different from what you saw when you were there. First of all, there was a lot more inmates. About a thousand, give or take a hundred, I think. And, basically, before Doole organized this revolt or whatever, it wasn't much different from any other merry Imperial establishment of this sort. The warden wasn't a cruel man; he was just running his business as he was supposed to, no more no less. We had some free time for ourselves, and we could keep some personal possessions." Kyp chuckled. "It's probably funny to say that there were any good times on Kessel, but, in retrospect, it _was_ a good old time."

Han nodded, but didn't say anything, afraid to break the mood. Kyp took a swing from his bottle and noticed: "Your castle is getting lopsided."

"It's supposed to. Don't let it distract you," said Han, not lifting his gaze from his creation.

"If you say so…" Kyp flipped on his stomach again, and began to stir the water in his sand hole, sifting the sand through his fingers. "Well, after Doole seized power, for some time things became very chaotic. Not enough guards, for one. Doole got rid of a lot of them and he didn't have time or money to arrange for replacements. There were just enough to guard mine entrances and other vital places, but inmates were left more or less to their own devises. You can imagine what it led to, considering what kind of folks we had there."

"Yes," nodded Han. He saw it too often, indeed. "The worst became the rulers. Self-government of a most cruel kind and no mercy for the weak."

"Precisely. In no time at all I was starving and as weak as a newborn pitten. They were stealing my food on a regular basis. Looking back, I'm sure they did it on purpose; to guarantee that when they decided to rape me I wouldn't be able to offer more than a symbolic resistance. Chaos or no chaos, if I made enough noise, some of the guards would have noticed. So they took care that I wouldn't."

Kyp stopped talking for a minute and buried his hands in the sand. He didn't want Han to notice that they were shaking. "One day after the dinner the bugor ordered me to take the dishes to the kitchen. When I was heading back, three men ambushed me and dragged me in the back room. I tried to resist, but…" Kyp swallowed.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." This time Han did look him in the eyes, but with a carefully expressionless gaze, making sure that the other man would not read anything into it that even remotely resembled pity.

"Stop being so vapin' polite, Han, it doesn't suit you," scowled Kyp. "You wanted me to talk about it."

"I did and I do. I think this talk is long overdue. You can't leave things like that bottled for twenty years. Take this from the man who tried. But you don't have to."

"Like kriff I don't," Kyp muttered. "Anyway, Rurik showed up right at the moment when I was ready to faint and stopped them."

"One man stopped three?" Han was surprised.

"He was a _labuh_. Do you know what that means?"

"Musician or artist, yes. Untouchable by the criminal code, at least without a very good reason." Han shook his head and chuckled. "The only thing that's constant for all kinds of beings in this galaxy – they all like to be entertained, no matter the circumstances."

"Exactly. The former warden and guards also liked to listen to him, so he was allowed some leniency – like keeping his kitara. And Rurik was a big man, Han. I think he could easily give Vader a run in terms of height. He knew how to use his hands for something less subtle than music, too. They feared him. He was reckless enough to get into any fight, without even thinking about the number of opponents."

Kyp dragged his hands out of the sand and smiled. They looked like he had some fancy gold-colored gloves on them. _Gloves. I need to buy gloves as soon as I'm out of here,_ he reminded himself.

"That's, by the way, how he ended up on Kessel. Killed two men in a bar brawl, which wouldn't be a big deal in other circumstances – it was unintentional and he was defending himself – but one of them just happened to be some big _shishka _who liked to spend his free time in the rough places."

"This Rurik sounds like my kind of a man, from what you're saying."

"Definitely. You two would have gotten along just fine. Pity you didn't have a chance. Anyway, the next day he arranged for me to be moved to his unit; don't ask me how, I don't know. You see, when he was getting those three sons of a diseased Hutt off me, he didn't have too many options. They feared him, yes, but they were desperate enough not to give up when he first told them to leave me alone. So there were only two ways left for him to save me. First was to start fighting, which would have surely got unwanted attention; guards wouldn't have listened who was right or wrong, so we all would have ended up in the punishment cell. Not a pleasant perspective, let me tell you…"

"I bet," Han murmured.

"Or he could claim me as his. Which he did. I still remember how he said: 'This boy is mine!' By the criminal code, it meant that he could take me as a… catamite, I guess, would be the proper word, or he could take me as a son. He chose the second option. After that nobody dared to give me too much grief."

Han's castle suddenly began to bow and in a second it crumpled down, becoming only a mound of ruffled sand. Kyp lifted one black eyebrow and smiled.

"Told you so."

"That was my plan all along, kid. Let's go swim a little. I'm getting hot and sunburned."

"You are the boss," Kyp said mockingly and stood up.

* * *

_**Yavin 4, Halfmoon Lake, 1 hour later.**_

* * *

This time, Han chose to sit in the shadows. It was getting close to midday, and the heat that emanated from the giant gas planet was becoming a little too oppressive for his comfort. Kyp, however, was still out on the now blisteringly hot golden sand, going through the series of complicated, flowing movements. They were vaguely familiar to Han; the smuggler was certain he had seen something like that before, he just couldn't remember when or where. For a couple of minutes he admired the other man's easy grace, wracking his brain in search of the memory, and then it came to him.

"Hey, isn't that Kajete martial art?"

Kyp stopped and turned to him, looking very surprised. "Yes. Where did you see it before?"

Han made a vague gesture with his hand: "Oh, one of my contacts from my less respectable days had a Kajete bodyguard. Used to boast about his abilities all the time, but in the end someone just blew him up with a thermal detonator. Guess martial arts aren't handy in cases like that."

Kyp laughed. "Probably so, but it'll sure came up handy if someone tries to catch me with an ysalamiri. He would be in for a nasty surprise."

"Isn't that a little paranoid of you?"

The Jedi looked at him incredulously. "Han, you of all people should know that there is no such thing as too much paranoia. Especially with me and my line of work."

Han made a face. "Am I getting soft or what?" groaned he.

Kyp snorted: "I think it's highly unlikely." He looked on the former smuggler with his big dark eyes that held a patently false naiveté. "But probably you're getting senile?"

Han hurled a bottle of water at him. The Jedi sidestepped and caught it in the air, then took a swallow. "Thanks. That was very thoughtful of you."

"Tell me," Han drawled, "Did you ever spar with Horn?"

"No." the other man answered, trying to suppress a smile. Of course Han noticed Corran's envious hostility toward Kyp and his smugness about his prowess in hand-to-hand combat. For a former CorSec the Corellian Jedi was actually quite obvious. "He never asked me."

"Smart guy. Or just lucky." Han flashed his famous lopsided grin. "Listen, kid, if he ever does…"

"Yeah?"

"Let him win. Or he will poison you with ptomaine. Shot the dart in your butt under the cover of the night or something equally special-opsy." He said that with a completely serious, concerned expression on his face.

Kyp laughed so hard that at the end he was barely able to say: "I will, Han. Never fear." He brought himself under control – marginally – and began his exercises anew.

"Oh, would you just drag your ass over here already! We're not supposed to camp here for the night, after all."

"Now who is getting impatient?"

"I'm not getting impatient, I… You son of a scabby Java!" Han got up on his elbows. He was quite infuriated. "You were reading my mind?"

"Oh, get real! If I was, believe me, you would have noticed. It's not that easy with someone like you, even for me. You simply were projecting this thought so loudly that even the fish in this lake could have heard you."

The older man lay down again, somewhat pacified. Then an idea struck him. Come to think of it, he wouldn't put it past this warped former Sith brat…

"It won't work, you know?"

"What won't work?" Kyp asked warily.

"Your diverting tactic. You are trying to give me something else to talk about. It won't work." Han raised a water bottle and grinned mockingly. "But I can appreciate your subtlety."

"Me." Kyp said with innocent expression on his face. "Subtlety. A-ha. Don't tell that to Skywalker, he'll laugh off whatever appendages aren't attached firmly enough."

"It's still not working, kid. Sit and talk. You have a story to finish here."

The Jedi sighed and gave up. Well, he did manage to gain about half an hour. Not bad, considering whom he was playing against. Kyp walked into the shadows and sat under the tree next to Han's, then rummaged through the contents of the cooler and came up with a yellow-red fruit. He showed it to other man: "Want some?"

"Is it edible?"

"Very much so. I'm not desperate enough to poison you."

Han nodded and Kyp tossed it to him, then took another one for himself and began munching it. "Now, where were we?"

"You were talking about Rurik adopting you."

"Right. Well, after that I probably didn't have a free hour in all the next year. Rik took me firmly in hand. Reading, writing, basic math, history… at least what he was able to remember about history, and other bits and pieces."

"I always wondered about that. You were too educated for someone who never attended the school even back then," Han said with mouth full of juicy fruit. "Luke had a less sophisticated vocabulary when I picked him on Tatooine, and he _did_ finish the school."

Kyp snorted. "I wasn't thrilled about all that, but I had an incentive; I only had to imagine what would happen if he disowned me, and all that stuff began to seem a lot easier."

"Would he?"

Kyp looked at Han incredulously. "No, of course not. But I didn't know that at the time. He was very stern with me at first; I guess it was necessary, I was a handful back then."

Han laughed shortly, but didn't say anything, showing a remarkable restraint. Kyp arched a black eyebrow at him, which made his grin as lopsided as Han's. "Thanks. I cherish your opinion. Anyway, Rik pretty soon discovered that I have had the good ears and a good voice. I think he considered that as a gift from whatever he believed in. He always wanted an heir." The Jedi looked with disgust on his sticky hands, and the half-empty bottle of water rose from the cooler and tripped in the air right before him. He washed his hands and took the bottle from the air, turning to Han inquiringly.

Han nodded. "You said 'whatever he believed in'. He didn't believe in the Force?" he asked, washing his hands.

"He never talked about such things, didn't want to give me any biases. But I guess not, because he wasn't happy with Vima when she insisted on teaching me. He told her she had been wasting my time and that I had had more important things to learn."

"Like music?"

"Yes, mostly. He was quite serious about that. I got all the formal training – notes, techniques, rules of composition, breathing exercises… all those drills they're teaching in music academies. And the kitara, of course. About a year or less before our escape he noticed that my voice was beginning to mutate and forbade me to sing, so I wouldn't damage my vocal cords. But I still had to do the breathing exercises, usually during the hours we were working in the mines." Kyp chuckled mirthlessly. "He said the breathing mask was very good for the discipline."

Han made a face. "A bit heavy-handed, wasn't he?"

"Probably. But I don't hold it against him. He loved me, Han, truly. I think he was just trying to make me so busy that I wouldn't have time to dwell on my situation. It worked, but…" Kyp drifted into silence.

"But what?" Han prompted.

The younger man sighed heavily. "I think this vapin' fiasco with Exar Kun was a backlash from all those years I didn't have a chance to be a rebellious teenager. I was a compressed spring, so to speak. As soon as I was allowed some leeway it all backfired. Spectacularly."

"That's one word for it, kid." The older man's face became grim. "I don't want even to think about making that choice again."

"What choice?" Kyp asked with incomprehension.

"Between you and Luke."

"There _was_ a choice?" Kyp was perplexed. "I thought…"

Han looked him straight into the eyes. "I came for you, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I thought you did it for him…" the dark green eyes went wide from the shocked understanding.

Han shook his head, half-sadly, half-mockingly. "Kid, for someone with your amount of arrogance you sure are underestimating your worth at times. I love you both dearly, but you were in a greater danger then and I could actually do something for you. I can't say it was easy to make this choice, but I didn't hesitate either." He looked at the other man, who went pale and still. "Sithspit! Hey, Durron, don't faint on me here!"

Kyp jolted as if being lashed by a whip. "What did you say?"

"I said don't faint on me. You were looking like you were about to."

"Oh. Sorry." Kyp averted his eyes and begin to fumble with the cooler. "Do you want something?"

The old smuggler understood that the younger man needed a couple of minutes to calm himself. "Just water, thanks." They sit there for some time, not talking, not looking at each other. Kyp picked up a string of grass and was biting it distractedly. Han didn't try to prompt him into talking again, just waited patiently. After a long pause Kyp threw the grass string aside and shook his head, then pushed black waves back from his face.

"By the way," he said with a faint smile, "Those breathing exercises proved to be useful not only for singing. I don't regret I spent so much time mastering them."

"Well…" Han drawled.

"Don't worry, I'm not trying to distract you again. I'm just getting to the hard part." Han nodded sympathetically. "After some time things began to change. The New Republic, or was it still the Rebel Alliance back then? I don't remember… Anyway, they got a lot of folks out. Neither Rurik nor me were included in this bargain. You probably can imagine what I was feeling at the time."

Han flinched, recalling the details of that Rogue Squadron mission. "Yes…"

"Well, Doole began to tighten the bolts after that. He was left with almost no competition to distract him anymore and with much less people to work in the mines. But he finally had more than enough guards to press us properly. So he did. First he applied some harsh measures to shock us into submission and yes, I was caught in one of them, as you could have probably guessed by my scars. Thanks for never asking about it, by the way."

"Still rough?"

"Kind of… Well, after that it became a more sedate process. A little less food, a little more work…" He laughed bitterly. "You know this story about the crog that fell into the pot with heating water?"

"Kid, _I told you _that story!"

"Oh, I forgot." Kyp smiled sheepishly. "Well, by the time we understood that things had gotten really bad it was too late to attempt anything, however desperate. We were boiled. People began to die on a regular basis and Doole couldn't find enough replacements. So he decided to push us to our limits and let us to harvest enough spice to buy him new slaves when we all died." Kyp looked at Han with a grim smile. "I was sure I was going to die, but Rik was adamant that I would get out somehow. I thought he was just humoring me at the time."

The Jedi was talking faster and faster now, in short, hurried sentences, like he was trying to get to the end as quickly as possible. "That was when this sleep-inducing field came on. I don't know where Doole found this technology; it was never employed before. But it affected Rurik immensely. He began to age right before my eyes. The fact that they took away his kitara didn't help either. The guards said we didn't have time for such foolishness anymore. It was the last blow. One morning I woke up beside his dead body. He died in his sleep, heart failure, I think." Kyp gritted his teeth. "I didn't say goodbye to him. I don't even know what they did with his body. About two months after that you and Chewie were dumped in our merry resort. You know the rest." Kyp closed the lid of the cooler with a bang and stood up. "Let's go back. Right now all I want to do is to hole up in my room, dig out that brandy we didn't finish last evening and get myself stinking drunk. Silently, preferably. What do you think of this idea?"

"Inspiring. Let's try to remember where we left our clothes."

**

* * *

* * *

Notes:**

The picture is real. It was painted by Michail Vrubel. You can look it up on google under the same name – "Sitting Demon".

Songs playing on the background are, in chronological order, "Claire in Heaven" and "Seice Ruairidh" by Capercaillie.


	4. Part 3

**Part 3** **

* * *

_Space, 2 days later._**

* * *

He always liked the hyperspace. It was an unusual trait for a frequent space-traveler; most people hated it, especially his fellow snubfighter pilots, who had to spend all that time locked up in the tiny cockpit of their craft. But for him, solitude was still a luxury. After all, he didn't have any chance to be alone until he was seventeen, and not that much of it for years after that. Kyp had his own room in Jedi Academy, but too often by the time he got to use it he was barely awake from exhaustion, and he was usually paired with some other Jedi when on missions. He learned to cherish every hour he was able to get for himself; hyperspace, for all its unchanging bleakness, was the pinnacle of his solitary delight. To be alone, completely alone, with only the slight hum of his X-wing's engines for company, and to know that nothing short of Interdictor cruiser or engine failure could return you to troublesome reality… it was liberating. He even resented a need to go into a trance for the long jumps; it felt like a theft of something precious to him. Fortunately, this jump wasn't long enough to force him into the death-like state. He had his time.

Most of his songs were composed in hyperspace. Sometimes they required a lot of work; he remembered one that took him seven jumps to perfect – and that was only for the music part. Other times, though, Kyp wasn't even aware of how it happened. One minute he was sitting in his seat, looking at the blank screen of the datapad, the next moment the small device was full of words and notes and only the craft's chrono indicated that he was out for a long time. Sometimes hours. _The Force works in different ways_, he remembered his Master's saying, _Let it chose its path._ Sometimes, though, the results of this letting the Force works through him were downright disturbing, if not scary. He attributed them to the remains of darkness in his soul, which never really went away. Needless to say, he never sang those songs.

This time, though, the music refused to come, in any way. He could try to plan his next campaign, but in absence of needed information it would probably be just a waste of his time. And the unrest after his talk with Han still refused to go away, made his mind circle endlessly, returning over and over to what was said, what was left unsaid, and all possible implications of both. He was feeling guilty, which was unusual; yes, he hadn't told Han the full story, and yes, he skipped Yavin as quickly as he could without appearing rude after that, but that was his business, wasn't it? His personal matters. Still, he was feeling guilty for not saying the whole truth, for what was probably the first time in his life.

If someone had a right to ask him questions, it was Han. Still, the older man had never asked, every time leaving the choice in Kyp's hands. And Kyp had never decided to oblige. Taking into account Solo's curious nature and the closeness of their relationship, this discretion was admirable and extremely unusual for the former smuggler. For Han to discover that Kyp has been living a double life for no small amount of years and had never even hinted about it to him was, Kyp supposed, a last drop of water into an already full to the brim cup. This time Han decided to ask.

He didn't lie to Han. He just didn't tell the entire story. He didn't even know how to tell it past the bare bones; for all these years, the wound was still here. Rurik had been his father and his teacher, his savior and his defender, his only friend and his role model. He had shaped Kyp Durron into the man he was now and, all things considered, Kyp was rather proud of the man he became. He didn't told Han about the long talks they used to have in complete blackness of the mines about all things from the most mundane to the most unusual, about the nature of friendship, love and duty. He didn't tell Han that Rurik always slept on the outer side of their bunk, just to make sure that nobody would get through to his boy. He didn't tell Han that for years Rurik had to work twice as much as any other man to cover Kyp's share of work, because if he didn't, Kyp would have been punished; after all, the workload was the same for all the inmates, no exceptions.

He should have told Han all this, but he just _couldn't_. They spent the whole evening after returning from the lake just like Kyp requested – getting quietly drunk in the comfort of his room. Leia probably wasn't thrilled about that, but she didn't intrude. He was grateful to her for that, and for the fact that she had her hands on her husband for the whole next day, preventing any possibility for Han to start ask questions again. Kyp was rather glad that the message he received the next evening gave him a convenient excuse to get off Yavin 4. He told Han that he would try to meet with him again as soon as possible (which, as they both knew perfectly well, could be awhile), said goodbye to Skywalker, who looked at him as if he didn't expect anything else, and hopped in his X-wing.

He has never dealt well with an emotional overload.

This time Han threw him completely for a loop. For years Kyp had been sure that Han's suicidal dash across the galaxy after him was not for his sake, but for Luke's. After all, he was the one who had managed to put his Master in the incorporeal state he was at the time; it was only logical to think that the most appropriate course of action would have been to bring Kyp back and make him reverse the process. And then in three sentences Han shattered all the beliefs Kyp had had about his relationship with the older man for fourteen years.

He thought they were friends. Good friends, yes. He respected Han immensely, he even admired him. And he was sure that, in terms of friendship, for Han Solo, Kyp Durron was always a second best, probably even a third, after Luke and Lando, not to mention Chewie. To find out that Han could consider him over Luke, that the older man could feel as strong for him as for the man that had been Han's brother years before he met Kyp should have left him overjoyed. But, strangely enough, he wasn't.

Before that talk he had been able to think that even if he did something to upset his friend, it wouldn't be a big deal for Han. You can't get hurt much if you don't care much, right? Right. Well, this safety net was gone now. From this day forward he knew that whatever stunt he was going to pull that had the potential to hurt Han, it _was_ going to hurt, and not insignificantly. And, to made things even worse, he also knew that if he thought he was doing the right thing he would do it anyway. It was just who he was. He couldn't change himself in this respect and, frankly, he didn't want to.

_Stang, why I can't have anything the easy way in my life? _

_Because the right path isn't supposed to be an easy one, _the familiar voice in his head told him.

_Shut up_, Kyp snarled mentally. He hated it when this 'Skywalker-in-his-head' was right. _Just shut the kriff up. Can I have my five minutes of self-pity here? _

_I'm noting the time, _the voice said with a chuckle.

_Great. Just great. It's not enough for me to live a double life. Now I have multiple personalities too?_

The shrilling sound of a siren pulled him out of his reverie. Five minutes before the return to normal space. He once again remembered the brief note he had received the evening before: "I have him where you wanted him. L.C." Well, the vacation was officially over now. Time to lock up his inner turmoil at the back of his consciousness and return to the work mode.

He took the control stick in hand. _Five, four, three, two, one, zero…_

The blurred lines narrowed to the sharp points again. _Welcome back to reality_. He was at the place he chose as his destination point.

Dubrillion.

**

* * *

_Dubrillion, 2 hours later._**

* * *

Lando found him in one of the shops in the vicinity of the landing docks. The Jedi stood near the counter, which had five or six pair of thin black gloves scattered around, and he was trying on another pair right at that moment. He obviously didn't have a time or a desire to change his clothes; his dark gray, almost black flightsuit was a bit rumpled and his ever-present cloak was even more so. The unruly hair were tied up in a ponytail at his nape and some black wisps already worked their way out of the confinement. Nevertheless, despite all that, Durron somehow managed to look more stylish than the baron-administrator in all his impeccable attire, which irked Lando immensely.

"Calrissian." A simple, cold acknowledgement, and a polite nod. No more than the social etiquette dictated, but no less also. This man was just plain infuriating.

"Durron," Lando answered in kind. "You were supposed to meet me."

"We are meeting," Jedi Master agreed. "Right now." He took his lightsaber from his belt and tested the grip. Judging by the salesman's expression, the poor man was afraid that the Jedi would ignite his weapon and test it right here and now – probably by cleaving the counter in two. Durron, though, seemed to be quite unaware of his worries. He returned the saber to its place and turned to the clerk.

"Thank you. I'll take three pairs like this one." He gave him his credit chip and turned back to Lando, who was close to the point of boiling by then. "You are a busy man, Calrissian. I didn't relish the idea of sitting in your waiting room, and I have great faith in the efficiency of your network. I thought that when you had time to meet me you would find me." He smiled slightly, with a small, lopsided grin that didn't reach his eyes; Lando saw this expression countless times, just not on this face. Usually it was Han Solo wearing it, and in the most cases they were sitting across a sabacc table at the time. "However, I didn't expect to see you in person."

_If only I could allow myself to kick your ass from this planet. _Aloud, Lando said: "Sounds reasonable. Are you finished here?"

"Yes, thank you." Kyp took his credit chip back from the man behind the counter, picked up his purchases and indicated with a polite gesture that Lando should lead the way. "After you."

They reached Calrissian's office in silence. Upon entering, the dark-skinned man immediately sprawled out in a big, comfortable armchair, and looked at the Jedi, who stayed close to the door, clearly waiting for the invitation, but without showing any signs of discomfort. It was tempting to make him wait just a little bit more, but Lando knew better. He nodded in direction of the second chair and received equally polite nod in gratitude. Calrissian pushed something on the side of the armrest and his aide entered the door in a minute. "Corellian ale for me and…" he looked at the Jedi inquiringly.

"Just tonic water with ice for me, thanks," Kyp said.

"Tonic water, then." _I got your message, don't worry. You are not going to play buddy-buddy with me; strict business and nothing more. Well, let's talk business then_. "Kass, make sure we are not bothered by anybody." The aide nodded and, upon delivering the ordered drinks, closed the door behind him.

"Well…" Lando said.

Kyp just looked at him with his eyebrows raised.

"Your guys are not here yet."

"They all will be here by tomorrow evening, Dubrillion time. Don't worry about them. What's up on your part?"

"I managed to get my man inside Catarrik's organization."

"I gathered that much from your message. What else?"

"Catarrik's accumulated a lot of slaves on his base. My man assumes that he will arrange a transport soon to get them on the market. Probably more than one ship."

"Escort?"

"As far as he knows, none. Catarrik's ships are not defenseless." Lando made a face. "I should know, one of them was mine. I want it back, by the way."

"After I handle all the transitions, certainly." Kyp rolled his glass in his hands; the ice jarred in it with a melodious sound. Lando noticed that he still had his new gloves on. "We can discuss that later. What else do you know about this transport?"

"Two ships with slaves, most probably remodeled Corellian freighters. His fighters are in the other places right now. I spread the rumor that I'm expecting a valuable delivery soon to ensure that they will be otherwise engaged." Lando smirked. "This man just can't refuse the opportunity."

"Good for us. Do you know where these fighters are now?"

"Somewhere around this asteroid belt. If you want to hunt them, you'll have to do it without me. Your window of opportunity will not be big, though. I expect they would find out that something is amiss pretty soon."

"I'll think about that."

"You would better. I don't want a pack of fighters on the loose around here."

"I share your sentiment." The Jedi thought for a moment. "As much as I understand, our main problem is dealing with three targets in three different places at the same time. The transport, the base, and the fighter group. If we miss any of them, it will all start anew. And somehow I don't think you will take any of them upon yourself."

"Yes." Lando didn't elaborate that he would probably not be able to do it anyway. The other man almost certainly knew that. "I need to stay clear, remember? So, any ideas?"

"Well, the first one is quite obvious. We don't need to deal with all of them at the same time if we manage to interrupt their communications. How many people does your man expect to be on the base after the transports leave?"

"About ten, give or take a couple."

"Perfect. Can your guy arrange to be the one in the communication center on that day?"

"I'll need to talk to him. But we have to assume that he will not."

"Right. The second option would be to put a remote-control scrambler in their communication center and, just to be on the safe side, the ships."

"It can be manageable."

"Good. How often do the fighters get in contact with the base?"

"Once a day, usually in the evening."

Kyp looked at him approvingly. "Good work, Calrissian."

"I was doing things like that before you got dumped on Kessel. Don't think you can teach me here."

The Jedi laughed. "Good point. Well, if your man will do his part, it all comes down to the timing. We'll take the fighter group first, then the transports. I can leave my men with the transports and Miko and I will take the base."

"Just the two of you?"

The Jedi Master looked on him with a touch of humor in his eyes. "I probably wouldn't need Miko for that. But it never hurts to have someone to guard your back."

"No disagreement here. What's on plan B than?"

Kyp sighed. "That would be my guys taking the transport and me going on the base at the same time, alone. I don't want to employ it, though. Without me up there, things can get messy."

"You expect to scare them into surrendering?" Lando asked.

"Yes, actually. But I doubt they will be eager to surrender to Miko Reglia. His name just doesn't have the same ring."

"Ain't that the truth. Well, as soon as I get some new information I'll get in touch. Where are you staying?"

"I have no idea. Do you have any decent hotels here?"

"Define 'decent'."

"The water runs, the roof doesn't leak, the bed doesn't bite. Tonic water in the fridge is optional. Well?"

"'Under Big Rock' is just two levels down." Lando smirked. "It's pretty decent by your standards."

"Thanks. And now, when the business part is over…"

"Yes?"

"Just what the kriff is that thing you concocted out there?" n

The dark-skinned man laughed. "I wondered when you would ask. It's my new attraction. I named it Lando's Folly. Wanna fly it?"

"You bet. It's been a while since I had a nice challenge. I'm getting complacent."

"Well, considering your first experience as a pilot, I doubt there is much challenge left for you anywhere in this Galaxy. But I think you will like it."

Kyp flashed him a very smug smile. "Certainly."

_Corellian fostering, _Lando thought with a certain amount of exasperation._ You can no more refuse a challenge than Catarrik can refuse a profit. But it will be good for the business to have your name on top of the Folly._

**

* * *

_Space, 6 days later._**

* * *

For once in his wretched life, everything proceeded according to the plan.

Even better, it all proceeded according to the plan A.

Calrissian had called him three days after their talk. By that time, all his Dozen were already on Dubrillion, rested, alert and ready for action. He sent three of them and Miko on a reconnaissance mission to find Catarrik's fighters. It proved to be a relatively easy task – either these people were incompetent or the idea of someone wanting to wipe them out had never even crossed their minds. Fifteen fighters: ten Uglies, three Z-95 Headhunters and two old X-wings made themselves comfortable on one of the insignificant planets close to Dubrillion. They were scouting the main cargo routes in trios, changing the guard every six hours. When Kyp learned about that, he decided to put Lando's ruse to good use, so to speak. The administrator wasn't thrilled about placing another one of his freighters in jeopardy, but he agreed that it was a necessary risk.

The second bit of good news was that the infiltrator was able to establish himself as the one on duty in the communication center the day the slave transport was supposed to take off. That certainly made their work a lot easier. Now he could take his targets one by one, without fearing that one of them would alert the others. Simple.

Too simple. Things never worked like that for him. Something was going to get horribly wrong. But since he couldn't predict what, where, or when, he had nothing else to do than proceed with his plans and hope for the best. Sometimes it really annoyed him that for all his considerable powers, predicting the future was, possibly, his weakest ability. Especially when he had thirteen other living beings under his command and responsibility. But they all were good fighters who knew the risks and, more importantly, the stakes. If something went wrong, they would know what to do. It was a comfort.

So now they were laying in wait, hiding behind the asteroids around the place where Lando's supposedly valuable cargo was expected to come out of the hyperspace. Kyp didn't know how Calrissian arranged the information leak, but, as other man so eloquently pointed out to him the other day, he wasn't a newbie in this kind of things, so this job was, most assuredly, done properly. That meant that all they had to do was wait. But they had been waiting for five hours already, and although the Jedi was still alert and ready, he was beginning to fear that this prolonged vigil would tire his guys very soon. _You better hurry, Calrissian, or there will be a very big '_else'_ here!_

_Oh, at last!_ The freighter that appeared in the middle of their ambush circle looked just like it was supposed to look – big, slow and innocently defenseless. An ideal 'level zip' ship. Kyp adjusted the volume on his comlink: "Red alert, guys. Be sharp. May the Force be with us."

The array of double-clicks in his headphones hadn't had died yet when their targets decided to show up on the scene. A standard pirate tactic – launching an offence on the ship that just came out of the hyperspace and was still a bit disoriented. The ion blasts and laser cannons began to hammer down the freighter's shields. The response was also standard: the victim slowed down and channeled all possible energy to shields and weapons. It wasn't nearly enough to discourage the attackers, though, but quite sufficient to keep them fully engaged, at least for a while.

_Showtime._ "Dozen, engage at will," he said into his comlink. "Be careful with the freighter."

They launched from four directions at the same time. The pirates never knew what hit them. It wasn't even a fight, it was a slaughter. In less than five minutes all enemy craft had been reduced to debris. One of the pilots, though, managed to go EV. Now he was floating near the ruse ship, making desperate gestures with his hands. Kyp's comm beeped. "Lead?"

"Yes, Miko?"

"What shall we do with this scum?"

Kyp made a face. _Good question._ "We don't have any means to fish him out."

He heard Miko Reglia sigh: "We can ask the freighter. They surely have the equipment for that."

Kyp decided not to tell his apprentice about the chances that Lando's people would bother to save one of the pirates who had been plaguing them for more than three months, stealing their ships and killing or enslaving their comrades. It wouldn't hurt him to ask, anyway. He clicked his comlink to the freighter's frequency and made sure everybody was able to hear the talk.

"'Fat Chance', this is Dozen Lead. How is your condition?" _I should talk to Lando. Who the kriff would give such a name to a ship? Or is it a shining example of his sense of humor?_

"We are fine, Dozen Lead, thanks," a young male voice replied. "Nicely done, by the way."

Kyp scowled. _Nicely done, indeed. A little more of such niceness and my guys will forget what a real fight looks like._ "Thank you. I have a request. Can you pick up that fellow out here?"

Shocked silence on the other end, then: "With all due respect, Master Durron, you must be kidding. This is a pirate."

Kyp did expect such an answer, but Miko decided to intrude in conversation at that point: "But he's still alive! You can't just leave him here!"

The unknown young man on the 'Fat Chance' answered firmly: "He is a pirate. By Dubrillion's law, the punishment for piracy is immediate death."

"But…"

"No buts. Clear skies, Dozen." With that, the freighter turned around and ignited her engines.

"Lead?" His second's voice sounded small in his headphones. "Master? What shall we do with him?"

Kyp sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today, and the day wasn't over yet. "What shall be done, Two." With that, he turned the nose of his X-wing toward the floating body.

It took only one shot.

"All right, guys," he said then. "The work isn't over yet. Let's move to the clear vector. Keep in formation. As soon as we receive the signal, micro jump to the pre-set coordinates and proceed as planned. Remember, there are lots of lives at stake. Yellow alert for now."

Thirteen double-clicks. Well, this was an easy part. The next one would be much more tricky, and with much bigger potential for a disaster. He looked to starboard; Miko's X-wing was just where it was supposed to be. It was nice to see that the kid wasn't going to become careless because of emotional upset. Kyp could sense his turmoil; his apprentice was the youngest in their group and he was still getting used to the fact that sometimes the reality wasn't as benevolent as he would like it to be. The older Jedi clicked his comlink to the personal frequency.

"Miko, I know you're dying to talk. Please, put it on hold until after we're finished. This isn't the right time. Calm down, relax, clear your mind. I need you sharp here."

Reglia didn't answer at first, but Kyp felt his efforts to pull himself together. After a couple of minutes he was almost back to the normal. Then the young Jedi took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I understand, Master. Don't worry."

Kyp smiled. "No, you don't. Not yet. But that's all right."

**

* * *

_Space, 1 hour 37 minutes later._**

* * *

The timing was almost ideal. They emerged from hyperspace near a planet that was so small and insignificant that nobody had ever bothered to give it a name. It was inhabitable, too, with an unbreathable, murky atmosphere; the only living beings on its surface or, more precisely, under its surface, were Catarrik and his people. Typical pirate-slaver layout, simple, but effective. And now the two cargo freighters, one big and somewhat sluggish HT-2200 and a smaller, but much more formidable Helix Interceptor, that had obviously taken off from the planet not long ago, were heading to the point where they could perform a clear jump into the hyperspace.

_Not gonna happen, pals. _He looked briefly at his tactical display. His fellow pilots were all at the assigned places, with him and Miko at the middle, right on the course of their targets, and the others flanking them in trios from all sides. Together they made a half-sphere that prevented the ships to go anywhere except back to the planet.

"Close on them, guys," Kyp said into his comlink. He flicked it to the common frequency. "Slaver ships, this is Kyp Durron speaking. Surrender now and I promise I'll leave you alive." He changed to Dozen's frequency again. "Fingers on triggers, half power for now. Shields on max."

There were some noises on the open wave, then a hoarse voice asked: "And if we won't?"

Kyp reached with the Force and scanned the ships quickly. A lot of panic, but not a lot of determination. _Perfect_. He added a bit of malevolence to his voice. Time to make something good out of his bad reputation. "Then I can't guarantee you anything. Don't worry, your shields will not last long against our lasers, and I know how to immobilize a ship without damaging its cargo. And if you try to harm any of the slaves, I'll not send you to Dubrillion." He paused briefly and said as nastily as he could manage: "I'll execute you myself. I'm giving you two minutes to think. Don't disappoint me."

He stilled his hand on the trigger, scanning the enemy for any surge of emotions that would indicate their will to fight. Nothing so far. Despair, panic and depression prevailed. _Very good. _The comm clicked. "We are surrendering," the same voice said. Kyp glanced at his chrono. A minute and a half. Not bad.

"I accept. Now, move toward the other side of the planet and back to the surface. Slowly. No jerky movements, please, these days my nerves aren't as good as they were. When I tell you to land, land. All clear?"

"Yes."

"Good." He switched to the Dozen's wavelength again. "Box them, guys. Be careful." Clicks in response. "Move." He waited until they were far enough from the base, just in case, then ordered: "Land."

They landed obediently. Half of the Dozen landed too, including him and Miko, others stayed in the air. _Here comes the tricky part. _They needed to get inside the ships somehow, with the possibility of being trapped in the airlock in process. But there's probably a better solutionHe opened the link to the captured ships again. "Good boys. Now pull on your EV suits and go out. Collect your weapons and leave them near the landing ramp. Leave one man at the controls of each ship. Don't try to trick me, I'll feel any deception immediately." Well, he wasn't sure about that, but they didn't know it. Hopefully. "Five minutes."

They came out, slowly, four figures from the big ship, that, judging by description Lando had gave belonged to him, and two from the Interceptor. He scanned them. No, no tricks, apparently. "Miko?"

"I don't feel anything deceitful from them."

"Me too. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Come out then."

Kyp activated his life support and opened his cockpit. He jumped down and took his lightsaber in hand, letting his finger rest on the button, but not igniting it yet. He felt more than heard a slight 'thump' behind him. Miko. Kyp made a gesture to the slavers, indicating that they should stay close together. They obeyed. Not taking his eyes from them, he moved closer and raised his left hand. One of the blasters that was lying on the ground near the landing rump of the bigger ship, rose in the air and sped up into his hand. Kyp quickly checked the weapon. It was powerful enough. He set it on stun and showed it to the captives, so they could see the settings. One of them made a move like he was trying to break loose, but the Jedi didn't give him the chance. Three quick shots in rapid succession took care of all six pirates.

He turned to Miko, who was staying a little behind and to the left from him in a battle stance. "It should keep them quiet long enough. Let's move. Take the blaster." They entered the bigger ship and stopped before the inner doors. Kyp found the ship's comlink unit on the wall and turned it on. "Activate the airlock."

The door behind them began to close down. Kyp activated his lightsaber and shifted into the ready position. Miko, without having to be told, crouched down a little behind him and to the right, making sure he would be in the zone protected by his Master's lightsaber, and took aim. The outer door closed down completely and a distinctive hiss of air rushing down inside the airlock filled the room.

"Don't deactivate your life support, Miko," he warned his apprentice.

"I know," the young man answered. "Tight spot, huh?"

Kyp nodded. "You can say that again."

The hissing stopped. Theoretically, the air around them was safe now, but the Jedi Master didn't want to take chances. He turned to the ship's comlink again. "Open the inner door, then move to the center of the cockpit, your back to the entrance, hands clasped behind your neck. Don't move. Understood?"

"Yes." It was the same hoarse voice. The first-in-command on this mission, Kyp guessed. Good. Presumably, he should be sane enough not to do something stupid.

The door began to open. The Jedi readied themselves, but the space behind the door was empty. No tricks, then, or at least not yet. They moved to the cockpit, still in the same order, Kyp first with his lightsaber on the ready, Miko second with the blaster. The sight that greeted them when they reached the cockpit wasn't what Kyp expected to see, but what he was hoping for: the only being in the room, the tall, thin man, was staying with his back to them, his hands obediently linked behind his head. His blaster and vibroblade were lying on the floor halfway between him and the Jedi.

Kyp called both items to himself and tucked them into his weapons belt. "Where are the slaves?" he asked the captive.

"Cargo deck, space two, three and four."

"Enter code?"

"Seventeen hundred twenty three."

"Is it the same for all three?"

"Yes."

"Identification key?"

He felt a spike of the surprise from the pirate. The man clearly didn't expect him to know this detail.

"I said no tricks. Or wasn't I clear enough?" He knew that this man did have something planned indeed. But what? "And just what did you hope to achieve here?"

The man spat on the floor. "You're the friggin' all-powerful freak here. You figure it out."

"Don't worry," Kyp answered sarcastically. "I will." With that he gestured to Miko, and the younger man promptly stunned the captive. The Jedi Master turned to his apprentice. "I hope you set it to minimal power? Just in case he doesn't have this key somewhere easy to find."

Miko smiled. "I did." He assumed an affronted expression on his face. "I'm not that bad, really!" he said with a note of childish whine.

Kyp snickered despite the seriousness of the situation. "No, you're not." He deactivated his life-support and moved to the prone figure on the floor. "Well, let's see. Pockets… empty. Didn't expect otherwise, of course. Neck… nothing. Wrists… nothing." He made a face. "Stang. I hope he didn't hide it in his underwear."

"Does he have any?" Miko asked somberly, trying to hide a smile.

Kyp moved his hands along the body's midsection. "As funny as it seems, kid, it was a valid question. He doesn't." He smiled. "That's a relief. Unless…"

Miko looked at him in sincere horror. "I hope _not!_"

"It's not like you're the one searching him," Kyp grumbled. "Well, let's take a look around. Control panel… none. No hidden compartments, either. Underside… none. Where the kriff could he hide the vapin' thing?"

The young man looked around. "Walls?"

"Probably, but let's try easier options first." Kyp ran his hands along the armrests of the pilot's seat. "Oh, here!" He triumphantly showed the small chip to his apprentice.

"Where was it?"

"He tucked it in the furrow between the seat and the backrest."

"Ah. Well?"

"Stun him with a maximum power and let's take a look around." Kyp moved to the exit. "Time's running. We still have the second ship and the base to deal with."

"No rest for the weary," Miko sighed dramatically.

Kyp didn't deign to answer. He headed to the cargo deck instead. When the younger man caught up with him, the Jedi Master was staying before the door to the cargo space two and was studying it intently.

"Just what I thought," he said. "A small plasma grenade with a very focused range. If I tried to open it without the identification key, I would be a nice cloud of burned particles. However…" he placed the chip into the small, almost invisible slot and keyed the code. "I think it's safe to open now."

The door opened. It was completely black inside, but in the beam of light from the hallway they could see people. Many people. They had been in the darkness for quite a while, obviously, because those closest to the door were shielding their eyes despite the fact that the light wasn't bright at all. "Stang," Kyp muttered. He knew very well how it felt like. "People, shield your eyes as good as you can, please. I need to turn on the lights here." He tried not to gag at the stinking, stale smell in the air.

"Who are you?" a scared woman's voice asked.

"You'll see soon enough. We have no bad intentions toward you, don't worry. Shield you eyes. One, two, three…" he flipped the switch outside the door.

"Emperor's black bones!" Miko breathed out.

There were at least one hundred and fifty of them, packed in the relatively small space, humans and non-humans, men, women and children. There were no facilities in sight, only two big canisters with what Kyp supposed to be water in one corner and a couple of the standard Imperial-style bio-toilets in the other. "Stang," he muttered again. _It's worse than I thought._

Some of the people were beginning to adjust to the lights by then, blinking and shedding tears. One of them noticed the lightsabers on their belts. "You are Jedi!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," Kyp answered. "My name is Kyp Durron and this is Miko Reglia." He waited for a moment for the surprised muttering upon hearing his name to die. "I know it's not easy, people, but I have to ask most of you to stay here for the time being. I can promise you will have your rest in some relatively comfortable settings very soon, but we are not out of danger yet. If some of you have enough experience in astronavigation or piloting, please come ahead."

One of the men squeezed through and said: "I was one of the pilots on this ship before they took it. But I have no idea if others are also here somewhere."

Kyp lifted one eyebrow upon hearing it. "Well, it's fortunate. I think Calrissian will be glad to hear that you are alive. Come with us." He turned to the rest of the crowd. "Just a little more patience, please. All right?" The crowd agreed more readily than he hoped for. _Well, one down, two more to do._

The procedure pretty much repeated itself with the other two compartments. They found another of Lando's people and sent both of them to the cockpit to get the ship ready, with a blaster and strict order not to kill the captive pirate. Thankfully, the pilots understood the meaning of the word 'discipline' and didn't try to challenge Kyp's decision to leave the man alive. He wasn't taking any bets that they wouldn't test the strength of the captive's ribs, though.

Time was pressing on them and Kyp still had that nagging feeling somewhere at the back of his consciousness that something was going to go wrong. But when they moved to the smaller ship, they didn't encounter any problems either. The pirate in charge didn't even try to fool them about the identification key, but handed it over immediately without having to be told. In gratitude they didn't stun him, just locked him tight in the closest convenient room. They also found two people able to pilot the ship among the prisoners. It was a relief; Kyp really preferred to have all his fighters in their respective crafts. They gathered the still-stunned remnants of the pirate crews from outside and locked them in one of the outer cargo compartments. It wasn't comfortable, but Kyp certainly wasn't going to feel guilty about it.

_Now to the base and Catarrik himself. _He and Miko saddled their X-wings again. "Five, Seven, Eight, Ten, you are going with us. Your mission is to keep anyone from leaving the base. Understood?"

"Are we taking prisoners, Lead?" Five asked.

"Give them one warning. If they don't surrender immediately, kill them."

"Understood, Lead."

"Let's go then." Kyp and Miko took off first, with the others not far behind. As soon as they were in the air and on a clear vector with the base, Kyp dragged a small device out of his pocket and pressed a button. It was a signal to the infiltrator. Hopefully, it would allow them to enter quietly and not waste their time on blasting the heavy entrance door out of the way.

They landed near the base, close to the middle-sized space yacht, which, judging by amount of credits spent on her, belonged to Catarrik himself. Kyp and Miko got out of their X-wings again and were at the doors to the base half a minute after that. Low gravity did have its advantages sometimes.

Kyp took a look at the door. Sealed, of course, and sealed tightly. He scowled. _Two minutes, after that I'll have to make it messy._ He gestured for Miko to wait and pressed the signaling device again, just in case. Twenty seconds after, the door began to move. The Jedi quickly assumed their previous positions – Kyp ahead with the lightsaber, Miko behind with the blaster. But when the doors opened, they were greeted with the sight of only one opponent, and his hands were empty.

"Courtesy of Calrissian," the man said. "Come in."

Kyp sighed with relief. No need for the proton torpedoes and other nasty equipment, then. "Lead the way," he said to the infiltrator.

"Oh, no," the short man with a plain, unreadable face answered. "As soon as you're out of the airlock, I'm outta here. My work is done. You know the layout, you'll handle it without me."

"All right," Kyp said. It was fair; this man had already made their work as easy as possible. He had no right to ask him to risk more. "Thank you for help, anyway. I'll be glad to work with you again."

"That's always a possibility," Lando's man answered. "Good luck."

"And to you." The inner door opened, letting them see two bodies of the guards lying on the floor. Kyp raised an eyebrow. "Stunned, I hope?"

The unassuming man flashed him a surprisingly nasty smile. "I would rather kill them, but Calrissian asked me to have mercy on your Jedi sensibilities. They will be out at least for thirty minutes. Take your time." With that he hit the button of the airlock door again.

"'Sensibilities'," Kyp mimicked mockingly. "How thoughtful of Calrissian. Pity this guy on the freighter wasn't alerted to our sensibilities." He turned to Miko. "Let's go. We have a date with Catarrik. By the way, don't stun him." Miko nodded. "How many people are here?"

The young Jedi reached out with the Force. "Ten, not counting our friend and these bodies," he nodded at stunned guards. "Seven along this passage and three further ahead."

Kyp smiled approvingly. "Correct. I assume the last three are Catarrik and his guards. It's fortunate that they all are in this area and we don't have to search all these blasted tunnels. Let's go."

They moved in tandem along the way. The opposition wasn't very far ahead. Less than three minutes later they came across the first two guards, which were quite unaware of their presence. It was an easy pick – they managed only two shots and Kyp had no problems whatsoever deflecting them with his lightsaber, while Miko stunned the pirates from behind his back. The Jedi dragged them into the nearest room with a good lock and Kyp promptly melted it shut.

After that things became stickier, but still it was nothing they couldn't have handled. Kyp had to blast the heavy table that three of the pirates were using as a shield out of their way with the Force, and Miko's back was grazed by a blast shot that ricocheted the wrong way, but that was all. They moved, encountered the guards, Kyp deflected the blaster fire and Miko shot them down. The Jedi Master begun to feel like he was inside the one of the hologames he used to play with the Solo youngsters. Too easy. His luck was never that good.

Suddenly it was over. They stayed before the last door in this hallway. It was heavy, it was thick and it was locked. Of course. They both could feel that their final target was behind this door. Kyp hoped that the fact that the pirate chief was still there was an evidence that there were no hidden passageways and Catarrik would stay where he was. _Be a good little slaver and stay where you are. I will get this door down. Eventually._

He told Miko to get rid of the stunned guards and took his time studying the door. At the first look there was nothing his lightsaber couldn't manage. But still, something stopped him from using it right away. He looked closer. Here! The same mechanism that was employed on the ships, only better camouflaged and more powerful. And, of course, the only possible identification chip for this lock was at the wrong side of the door. Not to mention that they didn't know the code.

"What's wrong?" Miko asked from behind. He already found a room to dump the guards into.

"The same vapin' toast-maker we saw on the ships." Kyp made a face. "In times like these I would really love to have a nice little pocket-sized Anakin Solo. The kid is a genius with the mechanicals." He sighed and turned back. "But since there are only we technically challenged here, I'll have to do it in a more spectacular way. Take cover."

Miko quickly disappeared into one of the rooms with a thick door. Kyp choose another one. He stood in the doorway and sent a powerful, but very focused Force blast right into the detonator, then shut the door and threw himself into the far corner of the room as quickly as possible, landing on his hands and rolling over, barely managing not to mash himself into the wall. At the same moment the explosion ripped though the hallway, bringing a wave of the almost unbearable heat with it. Thankfully, there wasn't enough fuel for the flame in these barren tunnels and in a couple of minutes the temperature dropped down to the manageable level. Fire extinguishers that Catarrik had the good sense to install finished the work.

_Now if he was only careless enough to think we are dead… _Kyp activated his comlink: "Miko, stay put. There is a chance that he'll want to take a look."

"Understood."

Two minutes later, the door grinded and began to open. The figure appeared in the doorway, moving slowly, cautiously. Kyp observed it from the barely cracked open door. The man – he was human, about Kyp's own size, with a handsome face that was marred only by a broken, flattened nose – judging by his glances around and on the floor was a little taken aback by the absence of the bodies around, but apparently decided that they were thrown further down the passage or disintegrated by the explosion and continued to move, holding his blaster in a ready position. When he reached the room the older Jedi was hiding in, Kyp flung the door open and called the man's blaster to his hand. Miko appeared from the other door just in time to see his Master taking the pirate chief out in a very old-fashioned way, by a left cross.

"Knockout." the younger Jedi verified wryly. "I just bet it was satisfying."

"Immensely," Kyp agreed and began to drag his adversary back to his room. Upon arriving, he unceremoniously dropped Catarrik into the chair and told Miko: "Keep an eye on him. I'll take a look around."

_Datapads. Collect them; it will be interesting to take a look later. Communication center. Also later, need a droid for that. Safeholder. That's promising. _Kyp examined it thoroughly. No, no nasty surprises. _I can open it with a lightsaber, but who knows what this slug-eater is keeping here? Let's try it other way. _He examined the lock. It was an old one that required turning it exactly into the right position certain number of times. Each time when the internal pinions connected there was a faint click. For most people the difference between the right clicking and wrong clicking was non-existent, but Kyp's musically trained ears could hear the difference quite clearly. _Pity almost nobody is using this kind of locks today; everything else aside, I could make a career as a thief._ The safeholder's door clicked and opened. There was a lot of stuff inside: New Republican and Imperial credits, a couple of the small bags with the various uncut gems, some jewels. Kyp turned around and began to search for something to put everything into.

"He is coming around," Miko said.

"Good. Time to have a little talk." With these words the Jedi Master half-sat, half-leaned on the edge of the table in a careless, graceful and quite intimidating pose. "Miko, make yourself useful and find something to collect all that," he nodded in the direction of open safeholder.

Catarrik opened his eyes and looked at Kyp groggily. "Who the kriff are you?"

The Jedi lifted an eyebrow: "You don't recognize me? Tsk-tsk-tsk. With your line of work I would be more attentive to the people I can piss off. I'm Kyp Durron."

The pirate's eyes went wide.

"So you know my name, at least. That's a start. Now I want you to take a datapad and write down the account numbers and access codes to all your holdings. Oh, and a list of all your business partners and contacts."

Catarrik's eyes narrowed: "And why do you think I would agree to that?"

Kyp waived his hand negligently. "I can give you at least two reasons. First, if you don't do it, I'll take you outside and place you in one of the cargo spaces of your ships. The inhabited one."

The pirate made a startled movement. The Jedi Master quickly put a Force restraint on him. When Catarrik understood that he couldn't move a finger, his face assumed a slightly panicked expression, for the first time since he had became conscious. The reality of his situation began to sink into his mind.

Kyp noticed that. "Yes, we took both your ships. Your fighters, too. I wiped them out a couple of hours ago. No survivors." He made a carefully calculated pause.

"And the second reason?" the pirate asked with a slightly trembling voice.

"The second reason is that, if you'll not do it voluntary, I just go into your head and take the information. And I can't guarantee I'll be gentle. It's been a while since I had to employ this particular talent of mine and, frankly, I'm not in the mood for finesse today."

"What difference it makes if you'll kill me anyway?" Catarrik cracked out.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to kill you." Kyp smiled darkly. "I have sensibilities, you know," he said confidentially. "Anything short of death is a fair game, though."

The pirate was silent. Kyp waited a little, then sighed: "Oh, well, you are going to be stubborn then. That's all right, I don't mind a little work." He began to take off his gloves.

"Wait!" Catarrik interrupted hastily. "I'll do that. But you have to promise me…"

"_I have?_" Kyp asked incredulously. "I already said I'm not going to kill you. But if you'll try to give me more trouble than I am in the mood to tolerate right now, I can change my mind. I don't cherish my sensibilities _that_ much."

"All right," Catarrik said, completely defeated.

"Good man." Kyp freed his hands and handed him a datapad. "And don't try to fool me. I'll be scanning you all the way." Catarrik nodded.

"Miko," the Jedi Master said without turning his head. "Go out and bring my astromech. And, for sweet Force's sake, find a bag to pack all this junk from the safeholder. I hate to think I played a master thief for nothing." He heard a brief chuckle behind his back and then the retreating steps. "By the way," he asked Catarrik, "Why do you use such an outdated technology?"

"Too many people with too clever droids around," the pirate answered. "How did you manage to open it?"

"Just asked nicely," Kyp said with a deadpan expression.

**

* * *

_Dubrillion, Lando Calrissian's office, 1 day later._**

* * *

"You know, Gurt will probably never completely forgive you for this." Lando poured himself a drink and looked at his guest with a mute question.

"Elba water," Kyp sighed regretfully. "Or, better yet, caf. My job isn't done yet." He smiled wickedly. "Don't tell him, but Miko said it indeed was funny, when he emerged from this vapin' catacomb and saw him staying there like a balved sculpture with my guys waiting impatiently for him to move a finger to start shooting. They were bored."

"Well," Lando answered, handing him a mug of steaming instant caf. "He said you are a bloody effective commander, but if you are going to work with him again, he would appreciate a little more forethought on your part."

"It's not like I didn't have anything else to worry about at the time," the Jedi said defensively, then took a sip from his mug and screwed his face at its taste. "So I forgot to tell him that nobody's supposed to leave the planet, big deal. They didn't shoot him, after all."

"That's a relief," Lando answered wryly. "And he got his prize. This yacht is not a cheap piece of junk. All right, consider the fun part over. Let's talk business."

Kyp raised his gloved hand. "One question. Why did you ask Gurt to 'have mercy on our sensibilities', as he so eloquently put it, but didn't gave a similar order to whoever was in command on the 'Fat Chance'?"

Lando wrinkled his face as if his drink suddenly became incredibly sour. "This is precisely what I wanted to discuss first. Thought we would better begin with the most unpleasant part." He took a mouthful of brandy from his glass, placed it on the table and turned to the Jedi. "Durron, you know as well as I do that a successful administrator – or any commanding figure, for that matter – should refrain from giving orders that his people would be tempted to disobey. Gurt is a professional. He would have obeyed anyway. The kid on the freighter was another matter entirely. He had lost his older brother with all his family to Catarrik."

Kyp nodded. He expected something like that, but had to ask anyway for Miko's sake. The boy most probably will want to know. "Was his brother's family among the people we freed?"

"Only his brother and his wife. Their daughter died in captivity." Lando looked at Kyp hesitantly. "My people want to see the justice done, Durron. I want to ask you to give Catarrik to us."

"Absolutely not," the Jedi said firmly. "Honor, pride and my sensibilities aside," he told Lando sarcastically, "if it become known that I didn't keep my word, I will never again be able to talk anybody into surrendering. I will have to kill my way through each fight. And I don't want to spill more blood than I need to."

The dark-skinned man made a face. "I expected this answer. As much as I don't want to admit it, you are right. Can I ask, what you are going to do with them?"

Lando was very surprised to see the Jedi's somber features lightened up by a genuine mischievous smile. "Let's just say," the other man answered with a note of gloating in his voice, "that one of Han's adventures gave me a perfect idea. They'll wish to be dead in no time at all."

Lando wondered for a couple of minutes what exactly Kyp Durron could consider _that_ bad, then gave up. "All right, I'll leave it to you. Let's move to the second question. I want my ship back."

"Certainly, but first I have to see if I'll need it for transport. I can't exactly leave these people on Dubrillion waiting for the opportunity to get to their respective planets, can I? Not that I can afford to deliver each one of them right to their home, but at least somewhere close to…"

Lando looked startled: "I didn't think about that. Some administrator I am."

Kyp just shrugged. "Well, they aren't exactly your responsibility. You have enough to worry about. I can handle it. Three days to gave them time to regain their footing after this ordeal, after that we can start questioning and planning. Meanwhile we have all that information from Catarrik datapads and communication center to proceed. And his accounts, of course." The Jedi looked at Lando and Calrissian suddenly realized that he was barely able to keep his eyes open. _Did he sleep at all since all that began? _

"I didn't. But don't worry; I'm good enough for about another five hours. The money transactions should be handled immediately anyway, before someone figures out that Catarrik is no more in the business."

Calrissian placed his glass on the table with a loud 'bump'. "I didn't invite you into my head!"

"What?" The Jedi looked surprised, then his face assumed a slightly contrite expression. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to read you, just picked it up. I have trouble sometimes to distinguish what was spoken aloud and what's not when I'm tired."

"Never mind," the administrator told him impatiently. "Just get to it already. I don't want your unresponsive body on my carpet." He nodded toward the corner where the state of the art comm centre was blinking merrily: "This baby has all possible security. I'll even give you some privacy for that."

"My gratitude is immeasurable," Kyp answered snidely and begun to massage his temples. Lando stood up and went to the door, then suddenly stopped, snapped his fingers and turned back.

"I forgot to ask you what are you going to do with the Interceptor? I can buy it; we always need more ships."

"Frankly, I don't know. It's not like I need such a ship, but I have a feeling I shall keep it."

"Jedi hunch?"

"Probably." Kyp raised his bloodshot eyes and looked on the other man. "You have a register here, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I want to rename it and register it on my name. Can you do it?"

"I can do it right now, if you like." Kyp nodded. "What name do you want?"

The Jedi answered immediately, without thinking: "_High Note_."

**

* * *

_Dubrillion, Lando Calrissian's office, 3 days later._**

* * *

He was still tired, blast it. Last three days were hectic, to say the very least. First they had to find a place, since even all Dubrillion hotels put together couldn't accommodate almost five hundred people. This problem was more or less solved when Lando let them use a big barracks that were intended for mine workers once upon a time and stood empty for now. Which brought a problem number two: how to made them inhabitable even for a week. They had a Sith's own time going through all Dubrillion hotels and even private homes, collecting cleaning droids, bedding and sometimes volunteers. Most of them were ladies, which was really fortunate. The barracks didn't have a synth unit, just an old-fashioned kitchen and before the ladies arrived Kyp spent about ten very tense minutes in it, trying to remember what to do with all these implements; it was quite some time since he had to be on duty at the Academy kitchen. He never thought he would be that happy to hear the phrase "Boy, get the kriff out of here!" but he was. So much that he almost kissed the woman who said it and she was neither young nor pretty. Kyp obligingly got the kriff out and commed Calrissian with a request to send them all frozen food he was able to spare. Thankfully, that proved to be plenty.

They also had to do decontamination, as much as they were able in these conditions. After some thinking, Kyp decided to get rid of all clothes they were wearing and to buy a whole new set for everyone. It seemed a heck of a lot simpler than washing and drying. He suspected that owners of Dubrillion's clothes shops would remember him with tears of gratitude for years to come. They pretty much cleared them all. Not to mention buying a lot of cleanser, toothpaste and towels, cups, plates and other utensils. Yep, Dubrillion economic was going to have a huge boost. _Another profit for Calrissian, _Kyp thought sarcastically. _I'm such a useful hit man._

A lot of former slaves also needed medical attention. He sent the ones whose condition seemed to be serious to hospital, but they refused to take in all sick people and Kyp couldn't really blame them for that. The hospital had limitations, too. It was good enough that they promised to send a medic team to the barracks as soon as they could spare one. Which meant that the responsibility for the rest was on his and Miko's shoulders, and neither of them was a healer. Oh, they knew how to heal a battle wound or clear a poison from the organism, but that was pretty much all. This time more subtle approach was required and they had to learn how to do things quickly. The results, Kyp worried, were questionable. Well, at least nobody was running a fever or retching in a corner anymore.

And these were only the first five or six hours. After the first three it went down to him, Miko and only two others; the rest of his team was dead on their feet and he told them to lay down before they fell down. The last hour it was only he and Miko, and the young Jedi began to resemble 3PO in his movements. When things got settled somehow, Kyp was so tired that he fell asleep right there on one of the bunks in the barracks and he suspected that Miko had followed his example. He didn't even know where the rest of his guys were, but hoped they had the good sense not to stray too far. It wasn't over yet, that much he was sure of.

And he was right. He woke up with the distinct feeling that someone was looking at him. Someone proved to be a little girl, no more than five years old. She reminded him of Jaina Solo when she was about this age. Jaina, though, never looked that emaciated or that scared and he felt a brief surge of anger toward the bastards who did that to the innocent child. Kyp squashed it quickly; it was not the time for that and not the place. They would get what they deserved soon enough.

"Hi," he said to the girl, trying to make his sleep-hoarsened voice sound soothing and friendly.

"Mom is crying," the girl said, looking at him like she thought he was able to make her crushed little world whole again. Kyp listened. Indeed, there was a sound of muffled sobs coming from the closest corner. He sighed and looked at his chrono. Four hours. Well, it was better than nothing.

The Jedi stood up and held out his hand. "Come on," he said to the girl. "Let's see what's wrong with your mom. What's your name, by the way?"

"Gella," the girl said, taking his hand.

"And your mom's?"

"Canna." She tugged him at the direction of the sobbing.

Kyp was ready to see what he saw when they get close. The young dark-haired woman sitting in the corner in almost fetal position was, probably, very pretty under normal circumstances. Right now, however, her face was swollen and red from crying, her hair was matted and wet and she wasn't just crying. She was shaking badly and clawing at her own hands and legs with jerky, spasmodic movements, drawing blood. _Nervous breakdown, _the Jedi realized. _No wonder the girl is horrified._

He was familiar with the phenomenon and had been expecting something like that, just not as soon. He needed to calm her down quickly, or there would be a chain reaction and in no time at all he would have a hundred people in the same condition on his hands. Not an attractive prospect. He slid to the floor beside the woman and gently stopped her hands, taking both of them in one of his. With his other hand he hugged her across the shoulders and tugged her so her head was now laying at his chest. He was talking to her all that time, nothing significant, just a stream of comforting words in a language she was more than likely not to understand, and her name. She didn't need to understand him, she just needed comforting.

Very soon his speech fell into a rhythmic, almost singing cadence, carrying calm and reassurance. At the same time he was sending her soothing waves through the Force. The sobs gradually got quieter and the hands under his palm stopped jerking. Kyp lifted his hand from her shoulder and placed his fingers on her temple. _Sleep. _Canna left out a shuddering breath, whispered something that sounded like a man's name and fell asleep. He waited couple of minutes just to be sure, then lifted her and placed her on the bunk, covering her body with a bright patch-work quilt that looked horribly out of place in this surroundings.

His flightsuit was wet from her tears. It was also rumpled, dirty and, most probably, stinky. He needed a shower and a change of clothes, but with all that activity he absolutely forgot to bring something for himself. Well, with all this stuff they bought before there should be something to fit him. He looked down at Gella, who was looking a little less scared now. "Are you hungry?" The girl nodded. "Well, let's see what we can hunt down here." He was hungry too, to the point where his stomach was beginning to ache. When had he eaten last? He did a quick mental calculation. Almost thirty-five standard hours ago. No wonder, then. _Well, let's hope there is something left at the kitchen._

There was indeed something left, namely the same woman who told him to get out ten hours before. She was sitting in the chair, resting her forehead on her crossed hands on the table and, obviously, sleeping. Kyp mouthed Gella to be quiet and began to rummage through various containers.

"And what do you think you are doing here?"

Kyp almost hit the roof at the sound of this voice. _Blast, I'm really wiped!_ He turned around slowly. The woman was blinking at him sleepily, but the irritated expression on her face was a little more than the Jedi could handle in his condition. The last thing he needed right now was someone in the authoritative mother mode.

"Forgive me, ma'am," he said with anything but submission in his voice and expression. "I was under the assumption that this is the place where I can find something edible without a lot of hassle. Obviously, I was mistaken. Well, I suppose I can wait another thirty-five hours to eat, no big deal!" With that, he turned to the door.

"Wait!" called the woman hastily. "Wait. I'm sorry." She smiled sheepishly. "I sometimes forget that not all beings are children. Habit, you know?" She held out her hand. "Peace?"

Kyp shrugged and took her hand. "Peace. But if you don't want me to wreak chaos around here you will have to find something to feed me, and soon. Right now I'm ready to eat this table." He picked the girl from the floor and sat her down on the chair. "This is Gella and she is hungry too."

"Gotcha," said the woman and smiled to the girl. "I'm Nyn." She turned to the Jedi. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Kyp."

The woman nodded and didn't ask anything more. In five minutes both Kyp and Gella had a full plate before them and Nyn added a mug of caf for Kyp. He barely remembered that he shouldn't eat quickly and almost groaned aloud, then told the same thing to Gella.

"I know," the girl said. "They told me yesterday." She was remarkably docile, the Jedi noticed. Nothing like Jaina was. But, probably, it was just a result of her ordeal. He hoped it was so, quiet children always made him nervous. "Are you the only one left here?" he asked Nyn.

"The others will return in a couple of hours, to make breakfast. Don't worry; I'm not making you cook. It would probably be a disaster."

"Most assuredly," smirked Kyp. He was beginning to feel better. The smell of caf tempted him; he knew it was still too hot, but took the mug in his hands anyway and closed his eyes in anticipation.

The high-pitched wail sliced through the air and made him jump on his chair. Canna wasn't obviously the only one having the breakdown. He hesitated for a second, unwilling to part with his precious caf, then used the Force to cool it down and downed it in one gulp. _What did Miko say before? No rest for the weary? Fitting._

And so it went. For all the next day and night the barrack was in turmoil. Kyp didn't blame these people; he remembered what he himself was like after Kessel and his almost-execution in Maw Installation. Still, it wasn't easy. Miko and other guys helped a lot, but it was still plenty left for him. Some of the former prisoners became aggressive; Kyp had to break a couple of fights quite forcefully. Others just began to realize what happened to them, which resulted in most cases in depression and hysteria, alternating with bouts of frenzied happiness and elevation. The presence of children didn't help matters also; after an hour or so Kyp just collected all little ones and sent them to the kitchen. The women could handle it better than he was able to. At the end of this long day he found himself back in the kitchen, looking into the brown steaming liquid in his mug and having no recollection about how he got there. Nyn looked at him accusingly.

"Are you always that cruel to yourself?"

"What!" Kyp was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't take a break even once today. All your guys did. Your student did. _I_ did. You really think we weren't able to manage without you? Do you just need to work yourself to death?" the woman shook her head sadly.

The Jedi shrugged: "Not that I enjoy it. If I'm the best man to do the job, than I have to do it. Sometimes it's that simple, really."

Nyn braced her hands on her hips. "With an outlook like that you would be lucky to live to fifty!"

Kyp rolled his eyes. "I'm still amazed I've managed to live to thirty." He raised his mug in a toast gesture. "Let's drink to my luck!"

The woman huffed exasperatedly. "You look like something that's been dead for three days. Shoo. Go to sleep."

He suddenly realized he was still in his flightsuit. "Nyn, can you find me something clean to wear around here? I need a shower."

"You need to get your head examined, that's what you need!" But she went out, muttering something under her breath. When she returned with some clothes, she found him sleeping with his head on the table, steaming mug still full before him. Nyn said something that was decidedly unladylike and went to wake up the one man from his team who went to sleep first. She told him in no uncertain terms that he had to take care of his commander, pretty please, blast you, and that if someone tried to wake him up earlier than in eight hours, she would mop the floor with that person, even if it was the late Emperor himself. Satisfied that the poor pilot looked suitably horrified, she returned to the kitchen. _And he thinks he's not a kid!_

Kyp got his eight hours, thanks to Nyn, or just because things got quieter somehow, or both. The hospital sent a medical team at last and they spent the next half of a day examining the former slaves. Fortunately, nothing seriously threatening was found, but they insisted on a couple more hospitalizations. After that Kyp left Miko in charge, told him to begin cataloguing who was from where and went to talk to Lando. They still had issues to discuss.

Calrissian wasn't in his office, but his aide let Kyp in without questions and gave him access to the comm center. Kyp was impatient to get the question of money over with, but he needed to talk to Lando first for that. The other man still hadn't told him the amount of compensation he expected to receive for his trouble. So he went to check his 'Net accounts instead. Couple of messages from his informants. Nothing important. The letter from one of his investment brokers about the state of his financial affairs. Business was good, but something made him to frown. On a whim, he quickly typed a short response, asking the broker to disperse his accounts and investments. Right now most of them were based on Coruscant. He wrote that he would like to transfer at least half of them to Kuat, Mon Calamari and Bilbringi. He didn't know why he asked him to do it. It just felt right. He also noticed that it somehow managed to settle this strange feeling that had been nagging at him since he came to Dubrillion. Not completely, but that was a beginning. _I would really like to know what the Force is trying to tell me here! _Come to think of it, he was feeling it even before Dubrillion. Kyp frowned. For how long he was worrying about something he couldn't pinpoint, always attributing it to some current problem? He couldn't remember right now, but it was definitely worth meditating on it. He resolved to do that as soon as he would be able to and returned to his current problems.

Another account, that only his friends knew about. The miniature image of very excited Kel Ahnr popped up. "Man," he exclaimed, "you should see the reviews! We really hit the big pot this time. The album is selling like water on Tatooine. Some people are already beginning to talk about nominating it for next year's award, though others argue that someone whom the public hardly ever saw shouldn't be nominated." The producer shrugged. "Not that I'm complaining, but your anonymity is really a pain in my behind sometimes. Take care and be back soon." With that, the image vanished.

Kyp smiled. He could imagine that the life of his producer wasn't an easy one, especially right now. The next message was from Tannith. It was voice only; Tan didn't like to appear in holo, half-jokingly claiming that it didn't flatter his unique face. The immediately recognizable smooth baritone with its distinctive upper class Coruscantian accent told him: "Kyp, my boy, wherever you are, try not to get yourself killed. I really like my bank account right now and I want to admire all these nice numbers for a long time." Pause, then: "And as funny as it seems, I miss you already. Clear skies, Avenger."

Kyp whispered wryly: "And clear streets to you, Tan." He also missed the other man. Amongst all people who he called friends, Tannith Leit stood as a class in itself. He wasn't a father figure like Rurik was and, to a lesser degree, Han. He wasn't his teacher, like Luke. Kyp made a face at this thought. His relationship with Skywalker had soured greatly last five years or so, since he married Mara. He knew that the former Emperor's Hand didn't like him, to say the very least, and it was no wonder that Skywalker took to heart his wife's opinion, but it did hurt him nonetheless, more than he was ready to admit to anybody. The first tear between him and his Master, right after Callista's appearance, was painful, but this second one was even more so. He had a rotten luck with Skywalker's women.

Tan wasn't his student, like Miko. He was his equal. Yes, despite the more than lopsided start of their relationship, the musician quickly proved himself nothing less than that. He also was one of precious few who accepted Kyp completely. Knowing the value of wrong choice in life first hand, he wasn't afraid of Kyp's past. He didn't admire it either, like some who wanted to see him as some kind of romantic hero. It just didn't matter to Tan, which was liberating and extremely refreshing. _If he only was a fighter pilot.., _Kyp mused wistfully.

The last message was text only. It was written by hand and then copied by holo. He smiled; this bit of eccentricity was so in the sender's character – old-fashioned, but willing to compromise. Very few people even remembered the art of writing anymore, but she always appreciated rare things. He skimmed over the few lines:

_Rodi!_

_You know, you really can make a woman feel unappreciated. I haven't heard from you in what, three month, or is that four? If you do not show up soon, I'll begin to worry in earnest, considering our family tradition. Don't make me old before my age. _

_Rik is dying to see you. He's made a huge progress and can't wait to brag about it. He is also somewhat troubled lately; I hope you two would be able to talk it through._

_Aren._

Kyp sat for a couple of minutes, just looking at the holo with affectionate and, he suspected, a bit silly smile. Was it really that long? Yes, it was. Six month or even more. He should go to them as soon as he would finish this operation. Actually…

The idea was sudden and as eccentric as Aren's writing style. But once again, it felt right. The bothersome feeling of wrongness calmed down even more. _I'm beginning to hate it. Why can't I have a proper, nice,** understandable**_ _premonition? It's like a child's play of 'hot and cold'. _Well, at least now he knew what to do with his new ship.

Someone was coming to the office. He reached out with the Force. Calrissian. And about time, too. He was more than ready to get it over with. Kyp enabled the erasing function. He didn't really think Lando would snoop into his activities, but why offer the temptation?

"You look better," Lando observed, coming into the office.

_Ah-oh. He is in talkative mood. Now, how to get him out of here without alienating him? Distrust isn't a useful trait in business partners. _The Jedi turned slowly.

"Compared to what?" Kyp made a show of looking over the other man from head to toes, then smirked. "Whatever it is, I agree. Did you come here to discuss my looks or something a bit more important?"

Calrissian gave him an incendiary glare. "You're taking this 'smart-arse jerk' routine a little too far. It's not amusing anymore."

"It's because it wasn't meant to amuse. So?"

Lando threw a datapad at him. Kyp snatched it from the air. "What is it?"

"What you wanted. The amount of my compensation and other expenses and the account number for the transfer. Is that all? I have something else to do."

"Actually, I have one more request. I need a small ship that can take twenty people from orbit to the surface of a planet. It has to be expendable."

"Add seven hundred credits to the sum on the datapad. Is tomorrow good enough?"

"Yes, thanks," Kyp answered briskly. "I would like it to be placed inside _High Note_."

"Any other orders, _Master Durron_?" Lando asked sarcastically.

Kyp smiled gleefully. "No."

Calrissian looked at him for a minute, clearly at loss for words, then turned and marched angrily to the door, his trademark short cloak slipping from one of his shoulders on sharp turn. The Jedi waited until he was almost out of the room, then called: "Lando!"

The older man stopped and looked at him with barely contained irritation: "What now?"

"I'm sorry. This last week wasn't an easy one. I can't snap at Miko or my other men, after all. Wouldn't be proper." Kyp gave him the best smile he was able to manage at that moment. "Thanks again."

"Whatever," Lando growled. "Just finish what you have to and make yourself scarce on this planet, at least for a while." He closed the door behind himself, still a little louder than normal.

_Mission accomplished_, Kyp thought, smiling to himself. _Let's see…_

He looked at the datapad and whistled quietly. Either Lando lost more to Catarrik than he was willing to admit, or he was trying to milk this situation for all it was worth. Well, he couldn't argue with Calrissian about this anyway, so he would better start working. Kyp enabled the comm center again.

He didn't like to deal with money. It was boring. But he always was a quick learner. He had to be taught only once, when he wasn't even twenty years old. The sheer humiliation of having to ask someone else for money would be quite enough in itself, but the added bonus of the fact that this person was, firstly, not his friend, and secondly, a smuggler, made him swear to himself never to get into such a situation again. So he learned all the ins and outs. Kyp wouldn't make a living in the Coruscant business district, of course, but for an amateur he was pretty efficient.

When he emptied Catarrik's accounts three days ago, he didn't bother with particulars. He just dumped the money on one of transfer accounts he kept precisely for situations like that. Now when pressing problems were more or less solved, it was time for details.

First he transferred Lando's money. It was easy and straightforward; no need to hide a source, no fear for an investigation. Then he separated a chunk of money for Dozen's maintenance and his people's payment. That was easy too. The third one was trickier.

Jedi Academy. Whatever his current problems were with Skywalker, the Academy should be kept running, and running independently. Luke would probably go ballistic if he knew where this money came from, but what he didn't know couldn't harm him. So he run this part through five different accounts; last three of them weren't even connected with his name in any manner. Hopefully, it would suffice.

He turned on his personal comlink and called Miko. The younger man answered almost immediately: "Reglia."

"Miko, did you finish counting heads?"

Miko chuckled: "Ten minutes ago."

"Good. I need you here with the list. Tell me, how many people altogether?"

"Four hundred twenty-one adults and forty-six children," Reglia reported promptly.

"Four hundred sixty-seven than. All right, move."

"Yes, Master."

The last transaction was to GASV – Galactic Assistance for Smugglers' Victims. It was based on Mon Calamari, mostly a charity fund, but sometimes running more complicated affairs. Admiral Ackbar was one of the founders and during the last couple of years Kyp Durron has been one of the most generous contributors. Anonymously, of course. His name tended to stir all kind of unnecessary complications and, frankly, his pride didn't allow him to be praised for doing what he considered his duty. This transfer also required some complicated handling, but that wasn't all.

He calculated the sum due to each person, then enabled the comp linked to the comm center and asked for a list of four hundred sixty-seven random numbers. Upon receiving, he wrote a brief letter, asking GASV to give a certain sum to each person who asked for money and was able to show one of these numbers. The letter went with the transfer. He didn't have time to set up four hundred sixty-seven accounts, after all.

There was a knock at the door. Miko. "Come in!" Kyp called. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. They came to themselves, more or less. No hysterics or brawls anymore, in any case." Miko smiled. "I left Nyn in charge."

Kyp barked out a short laugh. "Poor people. They will be mothered without mercy." Then the Jedi sobered. "Did you count the ones in hospital?"

"Yes, I called them. They said all our patients will be ready to be released by tomorrow."

"That's good. Give me your datapad." He connected it to computer and started looking. "About two hundred from this region of the Outer Rim. They probably will have a better chance staying here. Finding a transport should be easy enough. Or we can make a few quick stops along the way. Forty-seven from the Remnant." He made a face. "I'm not going there. As far as I know, they still have a bounty on my head."

"Sizeable?" Miko asked with interest.

"Is a Super Star Destroyer sizeable?" his Master answered dryly with his own question. "It's less than they were willing to pay for Skywalker back then, but nothing to sneer at, believe me. But the Remnant is also close. Let's see if we have an access to the port information from this comp." He typed something and waited. "Yes, there are at least three ships from the Imperial space here right now and about ten were here in the last forty days or so. No problem, then."

He returned to datapad. "One hundred seventy-nine from Mid-Rim. Well, a stop at Bilbringi should solve this problem. And it's close enough to the Core, too. If somebody decides this isn't good enough, I was going to visit Garos IV after we finish here."

Miko perked: "I heard about this planet. Famous university there, isn't it?"

"Yes, and a very interesting terrain. Want to come with me?"

"Yes, of course." The young Jedi looked on the list again. "What about money?"

"We'll give everybody some cash, enough to buy a place on any ship. What we liberated from Catarrik's safeholder should suffice for that. When they arrive at home, they'll have to contact GASV. I already arranged it." Kyp took Miko's datapad again and downloaded the list of numbers to it.

"It's a good thing Catarrik bought your bluff, or we would have only cash to give them," the younger man said thoughtfully.

Kyp lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "Bluff? Why do you think I was bluffing?"

"You weren't?" Miko asked in disbelief. "But that's…"

"Dark Side?" Kyp sighed. "Miko, let me ask you something. What was the difference between Luke blowing up Death Star and me blowing up Carida?"

"Except that he was given a medal and you almost got executed?"

"Yes," Kyp smiled wryly. "Except that."

"You killed billions…"

"There was about two or three millions people on the Death Star. So, size matters? What if I killed just one man, would it be all right then?"

"No, of course not. " Miko thought a little. "There were a lot of innocents on Carida."

"You don't think that all people who died on the Death Star were military criminals, do you? Techs, maintenance, consumer services…"

"They were at a war back then."

"Thanks for the reminder. There was still a war when I blew Carida, or do the words 'Admiral Daala' mean nothing to you?"

"Luke saved a lot of people by this act."

"I'm not a big specialist in prediction, but I don't think Carida Academy was a school for gardeners. If their graduates were given a chance to employ what they were taught to do, what do you think the results would be?"

Miko began to grow uneasy. "So what are you trying to tell me, that there is no difference?"

"No there is a difference, and a very important one. But I want you to figure it out yourself. Just a couple more questions."

"Go ahead," Miko said somberly.

"What do you think of me killing this pirate who went EV after the ambush? Was it a Dark Side deed?"

"No," the young Jedi said quickly. Then he thought some more. "No. It was a mercy. Yes, I have to admit, I wanted you to do something else there for a moment…"

"Like twisting the mind of this kid on the freighter so he would reconsider his decision?"

Miko laughed ruefully. "Yes."

"You are exercising in hypocrisy here, I hope you understand it?" Miko nodded. "And why do you think I didn't?"

"In a view of what you said before… I don't know."

"Think about this." Kyp looked at a troubled face of his apprentice. "Miko, you are an educated young man. You know the history of religion, don't you?"

"Yes. I even saw some rituals here and there."

"Then you know that most religions have a strict set of rules about what to do or do not. They are simply stating that some things are off-limits under any circumstances. Like killing, or eating meat, or washing your head on some days, or even having sex, or whatever, the list is endless. They think they are right. Do you think they are right?"

"No. In most cases its just rubbish. But they don't think so."

"Why?"

"Errrr… well, I suppose they're just used to thinking so. Usually they have been told things like that from childhood. They don't think about 'why'." Miko chuckled. "I see what you are trying to tell me. It's easier to be told that something is so and so, than think for yourself."

"Precisely. Do you really think the Dark Side is that easy? Do something or don't do something and you are safe?"

"No." Miko raised his eyes and looked at the older man. "I'll think about that, Master. I'm ashamed to realize how much of my ideas are really not mine."

Kyp smiled sadly: "Yes, that's a problem. How to get your own ideas when you are not aware that the ideas you have right now aren't yours." He shook his head. "Enough philosophy. We can have whatever discussion you want when we're in the hyperspace." He turned off the comm center and the computer and gathered his cape. "Let's go back to the barracks." He turned back to Miko: "And you know what, kid?"

"What?"

"At least you _want_ to have your own ideas. Some people never do."

**

* * *

_Space, 3 days later._**

* * *

It was their last stop in that region of the Outer Rim. They came out of hyperspace near the planet that at first glance was nothing special. Even the absence of any signs of technological presence was, if not usual, than unremarkable. But it sight prompted Miko Reglia to turn around in his co-pilot chair and say to his Master, who had assumed the role of pilot on the _High Note_ for this journey: "You know, I think it's cruel, even for you."

Kyp looked at his young friend. Miko said this phrase with a completely straight face, but his eyes were twinkling. "Hmmm," he answered thoughtfully. "I'm probably turning to Dark Side here?"

Miko made a sour face: "You'll never let me live it down, won't you?"

Kyp laughed: "Not in the next couple of years, no. Well, let's go and wish a nice trip to our pirate friends."

The young Jedi took out his blaster and set it on stun with a dramatic sigh: "I think it becomes a habit."

"You'll get over it. Move."

They walked to one of the cargo spaces and Kyp flicked the light switch at the same time with opening the door. He looked with satisfaction over the assembly of the ragged-looking former space-robbers, who were shielding their eyes. "Attention! I won't repeat myself."

He had to give it to them, they really tried. Well, if they missed something, their problem. "As you can see, or can't see, there is a ship here. You'll get into it as soon as I stop talking. The autopilot is programmed to get you to the surface of the planet. I assure you it will be in your best interest to leave the ship immediately upon landing. It's stuffed with explosives in at least five places. The planet is habitable; it even has some population. I recommend you to be extremely polite and friendly with natives, or you will be extremely sorry you weren't. Start moving."

Catarrik was the last to enter the small ship. Just before the door closed, he turned to Kyp.

"What is the name of that planet?"

The Jedi Master flashed him an extremely nasty looking smile: "Dathomir."

**

* * *

Note:**

Gael Garcia Bernal is representing Miko Reglia.


	5. Part 4

**Part 4** **

* * *

_Garos IV orbit, 16 days later._ **

* * *

"Helix Interceptor, this is Garos IV control. State your name and the purpose of visit," a pleasant, but very business-like female voice said in the freighter's comlink.

Kyp moved his head closer to the microphone: "Helix Interceptor speaking. Control, this is captain Kyp Durron on the private freighter 'High Note'. Transmitting personal identification codes." He hit the button and leaned back in the pilot chair.

"You skipped the purpose of visit," Miko noticed, a little surprised. On some planets, it could be considered a major breach of the procedure and he remembered hearing that Garos IV had a pretty impressive planetary security, leftover from the days of the Empire. But his Master only shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.

"Permission to land granted," the same voice said, sounding a little warmer now. "Lot 3, landing pad 38, standard path, beacon number 547. Welcome home, Kyp Durron."

Kyp smiled. After all these years, he still wasn't used to hearing that phrase. "Thank you, Control."

"Welcome home, huh?" Miko's voice was even, but the Jedi Master could feel that his young friend was dying from curiosity right now.

He smiled sheepishly. "I don't exactly advertise this fact."

"So are you really a citizen here?" the younger Jedi asked. He apparently abandoned any attempts in trying to keep his nosiness contained.

Kyp nodded.

"For how long?"

"About twelve years." He adjusted altitude control settings and took the yoke in hand, beginning their gradual descent to the surface of the planet. "I needed some, anyway. I didn't bother to renew my Deyer citizenship; I doubt I could, even if I wanted to. My family was probably erased from the records; political dissidents usually were. And there isn't much of the Deyer colony left, if any. Last time I heard anything about the old place it was reported to be in even worse condition than Anchorhead on Tatooine, which really says something." Kyp smirked. "And 'citizen of Yavin IV' didn't sound convincing to bureaucrats, for some strange reason."

Miko snorted. "I can imagine. But why not Coruscant?"

The young man felt a brief, almost imperceptible flash of a sad disappointment through the Force. If he wasn't so attuned to his older friend's moods he probably wouldn't have noticed it at all. But the voice that answered his question didn't change.

"Nobody exactly bothered to offer it." Kyp didn't added: _Even Han_. He didn't blame his best friend for that. Han Solo's disrespect for the authorities was legendary, and taking into consideration that by the time the Galaxy returned to a more or less orderly state the former smuggler was already virtually untouchable for the bureaucrats of more or less mundane ranking… well, the idea that someone could be bothered by such an issue probably wouldn't have entered his head. Kyp wasn't even sure that Solo _was_ a Coruscant citizen. He probably wouldn't deign to fill a file.

"Hey?" Miko's soft call shook him out of contemplating Han Solo's lack of the bureaucracy-induced problems. "You do remember that you are piloting here? Or do you want me to take the controls? I would like to land somewhere, somehow, not crush."

The Jedi Master gave his younger partner an incredulous look. "Kid, I can land on this planet while in a trance. The hard work is getting here; the landing is a child's play. But if you want to do it yourself, you're welcome." He transferred control to the co-pilot panel and stood up. "I need to check up on Canna anyway."

"She didn't eat today," Miko said quietly. "Again. She livens up a little only in your presence."

"I know," Kyp sighed wearily. "It's not good for her to become attached to me. And she needs more help than I can give, anyway." He moved to the door. "I'll talk to some people here at the Uni. They know what to do in this situation."

Miko nodded and turned all his attention to the ship's controls. Kyp looked at the chrono. About ten minutes until entering the atmosphere. He should hurry up.

The crew quarters were quiet. All remaining passengers obviously decided that it was better to be safe than sorry and already strapped themselves to their respective bunks. They knew the routine by now; it was the sixth planet they were landing on in the last three weeks. And during last four of the landings Canna forgot (or didn't want) to strap herself. Twice she even forgot to strap Gella.

The Jedi sighed. He hoped that after initial shock and grief wore off, the young woman would come to her senses, but that obviously wasn't happening. After Canna had woke from her sleep the second day on Dubrillion, she gradually slipped into an intense depression, frightening Gella to no end. The poor girl didn't understand what was happening to her mother, why she wasn't even acknowledging her presence. He had to separate them as much as he could, leaving the dark-haired tyke in Nyn's hands and hoping that her mother would return to her senses. No such luck.

At least Canna was quiet and didn't try to injure herself anymore, thank the Force for small mercies. Most of the time she was just lying on her bunk, staring into nowhere and shedding tears. Kyp was the only one who was able to coax her into eating or drinking something or even going to the 'fresher. His presence seemed to energize the depressed woman a little, at least enough to remind her about the basic necessities. But he wouldn't have bet that she was lucid even in these relatively good moments, for twice during them she called him by her dead husband's name. Kyp made a face. Judging by what Gella said, he resembled her father enough to be at least his cousin. In these conditions, it was rather a hindrance than an advantage.

He knocked at their door and entered, not bothering to wait for permission. All was almost as he predicted: Canna was lying in almost fetal position on her bunk, looking at the wall with unseeing eyes. Her daughter, though, obviously made an effort to strap herself in. She did a pretty decent job of it, too; it was not her fault that the crush net's fasteners on this ship weren't designed for five-year-olds to handle them. She was beaming at him proudly, clearly expecting to be praised for her efforts. Kyp wasn't about to disappoint her.

"Hi, little one," he said, smiling. "Impressive job here. But I need to check it out anyway. Not that I don't trust you. Procedure, you know?" He made a show out of checking the net, discreetly clasping the buckles she wasn't able to clasp properly.

"I know, uncle Kyp," the girl answered, looking at him earnestly with her big blue eyes. "It's like a game, only for grown-ups, yes?"

Kyp couldn't keep himself from snickering. "Yes. Definitely. As you know, a game is a veeeery serious thing, isn't it?" Gella nodded and jerked her head, trying to free her dark brown locks from under the strap. Kyp tugged her hair out. "And I'm not your uncle. Just Kyp." The girl pouted at him. He smiled at her, hoping it would somehow take out the sting from his words, and gave her a light flick on her pretty little nose. She wrinkled it and gave him an answering smile. _Seems like I'm forgiven._ _Now to her mother._

He sat on the edge of Canna's bunk. "Hi, Canna. Time to strap in."

She raised her eyes on him. Still the same unseeing gaze. "Danko?"

The Jedi sighed. "No. I'm Kyp. Kyp Durron. Lie down, Canna, I need to strap you. We are landing soon."

She lay down obediently, but with a confused expression on her face. "Why do you keep calling yourself by that name? You hate him, he blew up your planet!"

_Oooops. I suppose I shall be grateful she isn't in her right mind now. _Kyp quickly strapped her down and looked at his chrono. Two minutes. If he hurried up he would have enough time to return to the cockpit. He waved at Gella, who, thankfully, didn't hear her mother's words, and ran back.

He made it to the pilot's chair just in time. Miko didn't turn in his direction, but announced: "Thirty seconds. Do you want the control back?"

"No. You go ahead. They are using standard beacons, nothing complicated."

"I'm flattered by your trust in me." The Jedi Knight suddenly looked at his Master. "What's wrong?"

Kyp waited until they entered the atmosphere, then answered: "Nothing. Just the usual tricks of this fickle bitch Fate. Apparently, Canna's late husband was from Carida."

"Oooops."

"You're reading my mind," Kyp said sarcastically.

"I am not!"

Kyp snorted. "It was a figure of speech." He flicked the chrono settings to Garos IV time. "Good, it's still morning here. Change of plans, Miko. We'll take care of her first and worry about everything else later. I hope others wouldn't mind babysitting her and the girl for a couple of hours."

"I can do it."

"No. I want you to go with me. The man I want to talk to is a busy person. I want you to meet him and I don't want to ask him to make time for us twice." Kyp sighed. "It's really funny, if you look at this situation detachedly. There was all but a handful of civilians on Carida, and I just had to run into a Caridian, albeit not personally. Who the kriff said that the Galaxy is a big place?"

Miko snorted, then made a classical double-take. "A handful?"

Kyp looked at him, surprised. "Yes. You didn't know? Although I should have realized it when you mentioned the billions I supposedly killed… There weren't any civilian settlements on Carida, Miko. Just the Academy and one town with a spaceport that supported it. There was a number of primitive-living natives, but nobody knows how many, the Academy's students were pretty hazardous for their health. It's all in the open sources, if you bother to look."

"So why all these talks about billions?"

The Jedi Master shrugged. "I don't know. Probably to make the story sell better? Anything less than billions just wouldn't have had the same dramatic effect. Our free media," Kyp snorted in disgust, "were never known for its veracity, although I have my suspicions about who and why would care to spread this legend. But I have never had any proof, just the circumstantial evidences." He shook his head sadly. "Anyway, it's not the point. Billions, thousands, hundreds… size matters not."

"I remember," Miko said. "But still…"

"But still nothing," Kyp answered firmly. "I don't need excuses." He looked at controls pointedly and asked with a slight smile: "You do remember that you are piloting here?"

The young Jedi looked at him quizzically, but refrained himself from asking more and concentrated on flying instead. He _did_ want to land, after all.

**

* * *

_Ariana, the capital city of Garos IV, 2 hours later. _**

* * *

Miko Reglia hopped out of the rented XP-38 sport speeder and whistled quietly: "I never saw anything like this before."

"I doubt there _is_ anything quite like this in our Galaxy," Kyp answered.

The view was very unusual indeed. They were standing on a big, suspended-in-air platform that served as a parking ground. From this point they couldn't see what was keeping it in the air. It was covered; the arched roof was transparent. Two wide sidewalks, also sheltered in the same style, took their beginning at the opposite sides of the platform and gradually lowered to the ground in sweeping semicircles, like two careful hands embracing what lay beneath. The whole structure was so big that it should have looked pompous or intimidating, but somehow it didn't. It looked airy and as much in its natural place as the coral reefs on Mon Calamari. Miko was anxious to see how it looked from the ground.

His Master chuckled. "Even better."

"What?"

"It's even better from the ground. Let's go."

Miko wasn't going to object. From what he could see from here, what was on the ground level was even more astonishing. He couldn't make out the details, but from what he could see the famous University of Garos IV was definitely one of a kind.

Miko thought they would have to walk at least ten minutes from their speeder to one of the walkways, but as soon as they were out of the parking lot, he noticed that there was a wide moving path running across the length of the platform. It was made from some kind of semi-transparent material he wasn't able to identify and had a moving railing on one side. The other side was devoid of any kind of separation barrier and obviously was free for anybody to jump on. Which they promptly did, Kyp with an ease of long familiarity, Miko a little less gracefully.

Kyp smiled at his friend's slight hesitancy to get onboard. "You should see this thing at rush-hours. I suspect they built it with a sole purpose of shaking the poor students out of the last vestiges of a sleep they still have at that point."

The young man thought about it for a moment and voiced his opinion: "Sadistic."

"But amusing. If you are not sleepy, that is."

They were almost in the gallery. The moving path under their feet became stepped, but continued to move with the same speed, so the transition went almost unnoticed. Now there was a moving railing on both sides and in his impatience to gain a clearer view of Uni's strange buildings the young Jedi leaned on it, bending slightly on the other side, and almost banging his head at the transparent wall for his trouble.

"Miko," an amused voice said behind him, "do me a favor."

He turned around. The Jedi Master was staying a couple steps above him in a pose that was as casually graceful as it was possible for a human: with his back to the railing, bracing himself on it with both hands, hips thrust forward a little, long legs crossed at the ankles. He left his shoulder-length hair unbound this morning and now the unruly wavy black tresses with a few silver strands framed his chiseled face, softening the sharp features and making Kyp Durron look five years younger than usual. Not for the first time Miko wished he knew where and how his Master learned to conduct himself like that. Or was it just a natural talent?

No, not likely. Or at least not only that. Most Jedi were graceful; the ones who were skilled in the lightsaber combat especially so. There was nothing uncommon in that. But Kyp Durron's grace was different. In fact, Miko could swear he saw this kind of behavior before; this constant self-awareness of each move, constant calculation of what kind of affect each pose would have on the people around, so deeply ingrained that it became natural, so refined that it didn't look pretentious. The thing that confused him was that always before he had seen it in artists – actors, dancers, musicians, mimes. Not in the Jedi, at least not in the human ones. With the only one possible exception – Mara Jade Skywalker. _Pity they can't stand to be in one room for more than five minutes. It could be very interesting to watch them together. Probably I would be able to figure it out then._

"Credit for your thoughts?"

He fidgeted a little under the green stare. "Not worth that much. You were going to ask for a favor?"

"Yes, actually. Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you."

Miko hesitated.

"You don't trust me?" the Jedi Master asked with mock offence.

His friend smiled. "With my life, yes. But your sick sense of humor is another matter entirely."

"Oh, get over it!" Kyp said impatiently. "I haven't pulled a practical joke for years!"

"Ah-ha," Miko drawled tartly. "Since Kirana Ti almost killed you for your last one."

"Almost doesn't count," Kyp answered smugly. "Anyway, it's not a joke. It's a surprise. Close your eyes."

Miko sighed and closed his eyes. "How long from here to the ground level?

"Seven minutes or so. Bored already?"

"Not yet, but in seven minutes I will be." He was feeling a little foolish, staying here with his eyes closed. "You can entertain me in the meantime. Seems like you know this place quite well."

"Yes. I spent some time here."

The young man was surprised. "Really? Doing what?"

He didn't need the benefits of sight to feel his friend's sardonic smirk. "It's a University. Take three guesses."

"I just never pictured you as a one to sit at the lectures and all that stuff."

"Well, I did. As you can imagine, my education had a lot of holes in it. I don't like to feel inadequate. But it wasn't like you imagine. This place is one of the few where you can get a customized educational program, cut out for each student personally – if you can afford to pay the price."

"Oh. I knew there _should _be a catch somewhere."

He heard a snort. "Well, what did you expect? They have a reputation to keep. But it's not always money. I was as wealthy as your average Ewok back then."

"So what was your payment?"

"Just some assistance with some experiments."

Miko made a sour face. "As a lab rat?"

"Basically, yes."

"You weren't afraid that they could use their knowledge… unwisely?" The young Jedi remembered quite well the deed to which Kyp Durron owed his grim reputation as a specialist in mind control.

There was a pause, and then his Master answered. "That's the problem with knowledge. It always can be used unwisely. But they had a good reputation and I decided to take that risk. They could have found something useful."

"They didn't?"

"Nope. They were very frustrated with the results. The instruments just refused to register any changes. I levitated a table and as much as their measuring gadgets were concerned, it could have just as well still stayed on the floor. Well, apart from the obvious – that it was floating in the air at the time. They were going mad trying to find a plausible explanation."

"And you, of course, had nothing to do with it?" Miko smiled innocently.

"Didn't have to. There really was nothing. Probably if they had more time… but my contract was for one month only."

He felt the railing changing its curve under his hand and asked, "Are we there yet?"

"You sound like a six-year-old. Almost."

"So can I open my eyes?"

He felt a spike of amusement from Kyp. "No. Look at it as an exercise."

Miko concentrated. He couldn't feel where the moving path was ending, but he hoped that he would be able to feel the right moment to move. _Not yet, not yet, not yet… now! _He stepped forward and made a couple of quick steps to compensate the transition between the moving path and the stable ground.

"Good job. I suppose to tell you now that you could have done it just by stepping forward at the moment when the railing was going down would be a little tactless…"

"Remind me again, why the kriff I'm putting up with you?" The young Jedi was annoyed, more at himself, though, than at his Master. He should have thought about that. Kyp wasn't as bent on that 'don't use the Force unless you have to' rule as Master Skywalker was, but still…

"Because you secretly like to be picked on? I can't think of another reason, unless you want to make some shocking revelation here?" Amused hilarity was rolling off Kyp in waves.

"Dream on," Miko growled, feeling his face heating up. _Time to change the topic before he'll embarrass me into the ground. _"So how much more do I have to impersonate a Coruscantian street beggar here?"

"Just a little bit more." They walked in silence for about two minutes, and then the older Jedi said, "Stop here," took him by shoulders and made him to turn around. "Now look."

He opened his eyes and quickly closed them. Why did he feel like he had been punched in the stomach? Miko braced himself and slowly opened his eyes again. The second try went much better; he was able to actually _see_ what was before him. "Holy Sith!" he breathed out.

He heard a warm laugh from behind. "Language, Junior!" A hand descended on his shoulder. "But I have to admit, my first reaction was even less suited to be repeated in a civilized company." The hand tugged him down and suddenly Miko was sitting on a sturdy stone bench. Kyp sat side-by side with him and told him quietly: "Take your fill. There is no such thing as a second first look at the Garos Uni."

Miko seriously doubted that a third or even a tenth look would be enough. The buildings that stood before him, popping out of a frame of exotic greenery like flowers brought out of fairy tale, were like nothing he had seen before. No straight line was to be seen; the buildings were made of curves and only of curves. Sleek curves running along each other like rival runners, smooth curves intertwined with each other like lovers' hands, impetuous curves rushing to the skies with the grace and power of a space yacht. And they _glowed_. Not with the harsh, blinding glow of the Coruscant towers, but with a warm, sweet glow of a ripe honeycomb in the sunlight. All the structures were made of some semi-transparent material, which looked like transparisteel, although, Miko suspected, was anything but. They weren't monolithic; each building was made of thousands of small blocks, all in the same red-orange-yellow color spectrum, but each one was slightly different from the next. All that put together created a stunning effect: each block seemed to capture the sunlight and give it out little by little, shifting the pattern with each change in lighting, mixing the hues and shadows.

And, rising above this unbelievable view like some gigantic rainbow, were the parking platform and the walkways. The transparent roofs were, in reality, transparent only from the inside. From the outside they looked like they were made from the finest Calamarian mother-of-pearl, glowing by a different, milky, color–refined and color-defined, but just as soft kind of radiance. What puzzled the young Jedi was the fact that he couldn't see what kind of support this big rainbow was resting on. It seemed like it was just suspended in the air above the green riot and the honey glow, which actually defied all architectural laws he knew of.

"Mirrors," his Master said, making him jump slightly on his seat. He forgot completely that he wasn't alone on the bench.

"Mirrors?" the young man repeated somewhat perplexedly.

"Yes. All the space between the arch and the ground is a one huge sophisticated mirror. I asked once how they managed to make it work without distorting the perspective, but they lost me after about three minutes of explanations." Kyp smirked. "I never was able to understand physics. And the other way around."

"Physics or physicists?" Miko asked with a smile.

"What-kriffin-ever. I fail to see the difference." He looked at his wrist chrono. "As much as I wouldn't mind sitting here for about five more hours, we have a business to conduct. The lectures will end in about twenty minutes. Let's go."

They walked the yellow stone paved path side-by-side, the metallic edging on the heels of Kyp's boots clicking a little with each step. There weren't a lot of people around, but the grounds were by no means abandoned either. Some young men and women were sitting on the benches, mostly reading or discussing something, or playing games, but some were also flirting or even kissing. Nobody seemed to mind and the young Jedi guessed that open displays of affections were a custom. Here and there Miko could see people laying on the grass, with total disrespect for its well-being. The soft emerald brush didn't seem to be affected by that kind of treatment, though; it was lush and obviously well cared for.

Miko began to understand why his Master insisted on wearing civilian clothes this morning, not Jedi robes and not their flightsuits. Those kinds of garments would have immediately set them apart from the natives. Instead Kyp was wearing simple black casual pants with a tucked-in dark green shirt, laced at the front, which complimented his eyes perfectly and, Miko suspected, not accidentally. The black leather hip-length jacket wasn't exactly needed for this weather, but it hid Kyp's lightsaber and a military-style blaster. The younger Jedi was dressed very much the same, only his shirt was yellow-brown and his jacket was gray. They still attracted some attention, though, and a lot of females and, Miko noticed with slight embarrassment, some males, were openly staring at them. It was due more to Kyp's (and, Miko secretly hoped, his own) good looks, than to the fact that they were ill-fitted here. They weren't. He smiled to a pretty blonde on the nearest bench and received a blinding smile in return. _Yes_, he decided, _it's definitely a lovely place_.

"Kid," his Master said amusedly, "believe me, the girls will still be here tomorrow. Keep walking, please."

Miko hurried up. "Any tips?" he asked his older friend half-jokingly.

"Actually, yes. Don't try to dazzle them with your metropolitan charms or play out the 'weary traveler' routine. It wouldn't work. People here don't care much about the rest of the Galaxy. They were almost completely out of circulation for thousands of years and that made them tough, independent and very stubborn. If a girl decides you are trying to show off, she will blast you from here to Zila and won't think twice about it."

"Oh." Miko looked a little put out. "Thanks. I suppose I shouldn't mention that I'm a Jedi either?"

"You better not. Aside from the fact that I don't want to advertise, people here don't think much about us. The Old Order didn't help them during the civil war and they didn't see much of Jedi interventions previously, too. I heard Skywalker helped the Resistance here at some point, but that fact went almost unnoticed. So in most cases their reaction will not be favorable."

"What if I'll run into some trouble?" asked Miko.

"Try not to. If trying will not be enough, do as you see fit. If you get in over your head, comm me."

"You'll not be here?"

"No. I have friends out of town. I'll be staying with them." Kyp smiled encouragingly. "Look at the bright side. The ladies will be all yours."

"That's a comfort," the young man said seriously.

They were almost at the entrance to one of the buildings. The carved wooden door slid to the side noiselessly as soon as they stepped on the front steps. After the bright light of the day the insides of the building were surprisingly dim. Miko blinked a couple of times trying to adjust his eyes and looked around with interest, but the older Jedi was already leading the way up the wide white two-sectioned staircase. A soft multicolored light was shining from somewhere above the second set of stairs and Miko hurried up, eager to see where it was coming from. He wasn't disappointed. The large piece of wall opposite to the stairs was devoted to a large stained-glass window. The picture was surprisingly well-detailed, albeit somewhat stylized – the young man and woman, garbed in something light and free-flowing, standing face to face on their knees in a frame of flowers. The youth was looking at his companion with a hopeful, intense expression, and she was raising her hand as if to touch his forehead, with a compassionate, benevolent smile.

He would have liked to stay and look a little bit more, but he could sense his friend's impatience. Whoever the person they were going to meet was, Kyp Durron was clearly looking forward to that meeting.

They walked along the curved passage with the doors to what Miko suspected were the classrooms to one side and the big, deeply set lancet windows to another. There weren't any benches or chairs, but each window had a big windowsill, long and wide enough to sit or even lie on it comfortably. Three windows more, and Kyp stopped. "We are here."

Miko looked at the door. It was no different from others, except for a small metallic plate that said "Professor K. Mantel" in Basic and two other languages. At least that was what Miko suspected it was saying; he had never seen those languages before, although the alphabet was very similar to Basic. _Probably local languages. _

"Make yourself comfortable. We have to wait a little."

The Jedi Master was already sitting on the windowsill, with his back to the thick wall, one leg drawn up and bent at the knee, the other dangling freely. "You're looking comfortable," Miko observed.

"Force of habit. My butt and these stones are long-time friends."

"So, who is this person we are going to meet?"

Kyp suddenly looked perplexed. "Stang, I don't even know if a 'psychologist' is the proper term… well, I guess the closest would be 'mind-healer'. Or 'healer of minds'. Whatever. The important thing is, he is very good. If it's possible to help Canna, he will."

"How do you know that?"

"I know."

Miko kept looking at him with an expression that was a more than passable imitation of the one Kyp himself wore in such cases: one eyebrow quirked, a slightly sardonic twist of lips and a patient willingness to wait written all over his face. The older Jedi laughed aloud. "It wouldn't work on me, you know? I'm immune."

"Well, it was worth a try. So, how do you know?"

Kyp muttered something in a language Miko didn't recognize, but the tone made him backpedal a little. He raised his hands. "Too many questions. Got it."

"No!" Kyp said forcefully. "No. Sorry. The trust is a two-way road. If you're asking, I'll answer." He swallowed. "He worked with me way back then, after Carida and all that. I was a mess then, emotionally, mentally, in every way. I managed to dig myself out of the Dark Side, but it wasn't enough, not in the long run." He closed his eyes briefly. "I hate to think what could have happened to me without him. I didn't even know I needed help. I knew I had some issues and I knew I didn't have any success in clearing them out, but I thought it was my fault, my inability to cope and I blamed myself for that too. I was running an endless circle of guilt and hopelessness, sometimes managing to drive it out, but never for long. Never enough. I even tried once to push a woman into killing me, just how dumb is that? I didn't want to, at least consciously, just lost my will to resist for a moment…"

Miko was having trouble breathing through the lump in his throat. He had never ever heard his Master talk like that. He knew his story, of course, everybody knew it; but he never thought about how devastating Kyp Durron's ordeals were, what he had to overcome to become the man he was now. It seemed so easy in a dry recollection – the plundering of his home, his parents' death, ten or so years on Kessel, the Dark Side, an almost-suicide in process of destroying the last Death Star in a self-imposed penance… like a fairy tale. But it wasn't a tale and Kyp Durron wasn't some mythical hero. He was just a man – a man who had to go through the worst the Galaxy had had to offer before he was even eighteen years old. It was a numbing thought. And humbling.

The older man continued to speak, meanwhile. Miko cleared out his head and tried his best to listen. Thankfully, his Master didn't notice his distraction.

"…I don't know who told him about me, but one day he came to the physics department toward the end of my 'lab rat' session and asked to talk with me. I almost refused, but he has his ways. One hour later I was sitting in his apartment, drinking his caf and telling him things I had never told to anyone else." The dark-haired head shook bemusedly. "I still don't understand how he does it. He has no Force abilities, that's for sure."

"How long did it take for you to get back to normal?" Miko asked quietly.

"Oh, about five years, give or take."

"That long!" Miko was horrified.

"Well, he said that if it had occurred to somebody to get a professional help for me right after Kessel it would have taken less, about two years or so, but… there is no use in 'what ifs'. And five years isn't considered a long time in such cases. It's actually pretty quick. Sometimes it takes ten years or so. Sometimes a whole lifetime. He's still keeping an eye on me, by the way. Nobody is exactly 'normal' after something like that." He sighed. "I hope Canna's recovery will not take that long."

Suddenly the quiet was broken by a sound of the bell, melodious, but loud. Almost immediately the doors along the passageway began to open and in less than a minute the previously empty space was filled with a young, loud, jovial crowd. They waited until most of students were gone, then Kyp jumped out from the windowsill and headed to the still open door, gesturing for Miko to come along. They entered the classroom. It was surprisingly austere, making a startling contrast with the building's flamboyant outward appearance – white bare walls, simple desks and equally simple, but comfortable chairs, holoprojector, and a big computer station in the corner. No windows. A man was sitting beside the holoprojector, fiddling with a big, old-fashioned datapad. He didn't notice them entering.

"Teacher?" Kyp called quietly. Miko looked at him, surprised. Even Luke Skywalker couldn't manage to put quite this amount of respect in Kyp Durron's voice. The man looked up and stood quickly, almost tripping his chair.

"Kyp!" he exclaimed in a low, booming voice. "This is a pleasure. I had a feeling you might show up soon." He took a couple of steps and hugged the dark-haired Jedi with one hand.

In any other circumstances Miko would be tempted to laugh, or at least to smile. The scientist barely reached the Jedi Master's chin. He was also almost square in shape, with the wide shoulders, a big, partially bald head, a barrel chest and the thick, abundantly muscled hairy hands with short-fingered, meaty palms. Next to the lanky, perfectly proportioned, graceful Jedi, this contrast was stunning. But then the short man turned to him and the unborn laugh died in Miko's throat. The professor wasn't handsome, he wasn't even nice-looking, but the young Jedi had rarely seen a strong will and intelligence in such a prominent display. Chestnut brown eyes swept him from head to toe with a keen, measuring look and Miko shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. Suddenly the short man's massive features lit up with a surprisingly charming smile. "Care to introduce us?" he asked, looking up at his former patient.

"Of course," Kyp smiled. "Keit, this is Miko Reglia. My apprentice." He turned to his young friend. "Miko, this is professor Keit Mantel."

Miko bowed his head in respect. "And the proper form of address would be…?"

"Keit," the doctor answered.

The young man digested that for a moment. "No. I wouldn't be comfortable calling you that. Can I call you professor?"

Keit snorted. "I suppose so. Kyp, this young man is just as bad as you were," he said lightly.

"He is my apprentice. What did you expect?"

"My boy, the Galaxy isn't ready for a second Kyp Durron yet!"

The Jedi Master chuckled, but then his face assumed a far more serious expression. "I'm afraid this time it's not a social visit, Keit, as much as I want it to be." The professor threw him a sharp look. "Oh, no, I'm all right. But I do have another patient for you." He described Canna's situation quickly, in precise sentences. "Do you have a place in your clinic for her?"

"I suppose so," the doctor said slowly, chewing at his bottom lip. "Let me check. And I need to see her, the sooner the better. We'll also have to have a second opinion if she requires a hospitalization." He began to press buttons on his comlink, but the Jedi stilled his hand.

"One more complication. She has a five-year-old daughter. Is here, by any chance, some place where she can live until her mother gets better?"

Professor Mantel shook his big head sadly. "I assume you checked about relatives?" Kyp nodded. "I'm sorry, Kyp, but no. Any placement into an orphanage or a foster family will take a lot of time. And any temporary solution I can suggest is as good as yours."

Miko had a vague impression that the professor was subtly implying something to the older Jedi. He had no idea what, exactly, it was, but Kyp obviously did. "I thought as much. You think it's a good idea?"

"Better than any other I can think of right now. It can actually benefit both sides." He returned to his comlink. "Doctor Rayley? Keit Mantel speaking. Can you assist me with an evaluation? Yes, preferably now. Thank you." He turned the comlink off and took his jacket from his chair's backrest. "Come on, boys."

**

* * *

_On the streets of Ariana, 4 hours later._ **

* * *

"Remember, Miko, I don't want to advertise. Keep a low profile."

"I remember. Do you have anything for me to do here?"

"No. Have fun. The University's library is open to everyone and the pubs around the Uni are mostly very good. I would recommend avoiding Chado's Pub, though. It's too touristy nowadays. Just don't get involved in any fights. The students can be a little territorial sometimes."

"Somehow I'm not surprised about it," the young man smirked, hopping out of the big Aratech Arrow-23 speeder, which Kyp traded for their previous one in spaceport. "You have fun, too." He turned to the dark-haired girl in the back seat. "Goodbye, little one."

Gella sprang to her feet and threw her hands around his neck. "G'bye, Miko. I luv you."

"Come to see me in fifteen years or so," laughed Miko, then added in a more serious tone, "I love you too, Gella. Let the Force be with you." He helped her back in her seat and strapped her in, then playfully tugged at one of her two braids. "Be happy." The young Jedi stepped back, waved at them one last time and quickly dissolved in the street crowd.

"Ready to go?" Kyp asked. He was watching the scene with a warm amusement, half-turning in the driver's seat.

"Yes, uncle Kyp," the girl answered with some amount of enthusiasm.

This time he didn't bother to correct her. If things went badly, he would probably be an 'uncle' to her for a long, long time. Canna's condition was in fact even worse than he estimated it. Keit and the other doctor hadn't even tried to cheer him up over the matter; according to them nothing short of a miracle could make her recovery time any less than at least a year. They also didn't give him any guarantees that she would be able to fulfill her maternal duties even after the worst was over. If it would be over. So the little girl's well-being was in his hands now. He was more than a little scared at this thought.

The only good thing was that Gella was adapting pretty quickly. She didn't cry when the doctors took her unresponsive mother to the clinic; she even looked slightly relieved. She also didn't object to the proposition of living somewhere else while her mother was taken care of, showing an inordinate amount of trust in her guardian. As young as she was, she understood that her mom was very ill and believed their promises that the doctors would do everything to make Canna "just like before", as she put it. Kyp had a moment of uneasiness over this white lie and even opened his mouth to say something, but Keit silenced him with a look and nodded at the direction of the door. "Not now," he whispered when they got out of High Note'sgalley, where this talk had taken place. "I'll send someone to work with her, but she has a lot to deal with at this moment. Don't add to the pile, Kyp."

He nodded. "I understand, teacher."

The brown eyes under the black bushy eyebrows looked at him sadly. "I wish you had finished your education instead of raiding the Outer Rim. It's a shame to waste a brain such as yours."

The Jedi smiled lopsidedly, without humor. "Are we on that again? You would make a nice pair with Skywalker. Only he thinks I should sit on Yavin IV and contemplate nuances of the Force."

The professor sighed. "Please, understand me. I'm not talking as your counselor now, just as your friend. It's probably not exactly professional of me, but… Kyp, you are a little too talented for your own good. People like you often end up wasting their potential because they can't chose their path properly. And yes, I understand that I'm biased here. Just like Master Skywalker is. Just like Rik Segan would be if he lived that long." He became a little agitated, raising his voice. "You are a Jedi Master. There are not a lot of them around, so I have to assume that your abilities with the Force are exceptional. I'm not a specialist in that field, but people say you are a very good musician. You also have an intellectual capacity to become more than a decent scientist. But instead of concentrating on any of that, you are doing things that can be done by any average military squadron commander! Do you understand why I'm a little irritated here?"

Kyp looked at him incredulously. He began to feel exasperated himself. "Keit, you spent thirty years helping abuse victims. How can you say that I shall let it all be?"

"Can you just let someone else do it? Why it should be you?"

"Because there isn't someone else, that's why!" He noticed that he was almost shouting and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "Because no one else is willing to do it! Do you know how many people we freed in this operation? Almost five hundred! And if I was doing anything of what you think I should do, they all would have been sold on a slave market by now! And this vapin' pirate would be free to rob and kill and enslave…" He stopped and took a deep breath, suppressing his anger. "I understand what you are saying, Keit, really. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

"That's a guilt complex speaking, do you understand that?" his friend asked resignedly.

"Probably. But that doesn't matter. There is still no one else to do the job."

"You and your stubbornness…" the doctor muttered. Then something clicked in his head. "Wait! You said five hundred?"

"Almost, yes."

"Force… And you brought only one woman here? What about the others?"

Kyp shook his head. "I couldn't exactly bring all of them to Garos IV, and dump in your lap, could I? None of them were in such a bad shape as Canna is. They were of sound mind, they could decide for themselves. I gave them a list of the places where they can receive a professional help; I gave them money. I told them they should do it – repeatedly. It's probably not an ideal solution, but honestly, Keit, what else could I do? I'm open to suggestions."

The professor chewed at his lower lip. "Putting it like that… most probably nothing. But did you consider having a doctor travel with your squadron?"

"It's not a scientific expedition, unfortunately. If you'll find one who is a decent fighter pilot and willing to live a life like that, with a possibility of being killed on any given day, let me know. I'll not have any objections."

The galley's door opened and doctor Rayley's head appeared. "Are you finished with your debate here? We need to move soon, I have an appointment in two hours," he said to his colleague.

"Right. Let's go," professor Mantel answered and turned back to Kyp. "I hope I'll see you around?"

"You can count on it," the Jedi smiled.

So now Kyp sat in his speeder, trying to figure out how to break the news that she was about to receive a long-term houseguest to Aren, but since he really couldn't think of anything appropriate, he just murmured: "Well, good," under his breath and started the engine. They had almost an hour-long drive ahead of them.

He expertly maneuvered the speeder through the busy traffic of Ariana's main streets. After Coruscant it wasn't really that much of a challenge, despite the dimensions of their vehicle. Gella was sitting quietly in the back, too busy with looking around to talk. _Just as well, that_. He was ruffled enough as it was. Finally they were out of city and Kyp immediately boosted the speed; ruffled or not, he was always eager to get to the only place he could really call his home. _Now, which way to pick? _There were two roads: one through the forest that covered most of this part of the continent's surface, and another along the edge of Tahika Cliffs. Few people dared to travel it, preferring the longer, but safer forest road, but Kyp was amongst these few. The forbidding Tahika Cliffs run for a hundred kilometers along the continent's western coastline, facing the vast expanse of the Locura Ocean. Their dizzying height and the strong wind that constantly whipped their edges made driving a challenge, but the view certainly was making up for any hazards. If he was alone, Kyp wouldn't hesitate for a second, but he wasn't sure the girl was ready to see something that magnificently frightening. With a sigh he turned to the forest road.

Five minutes into the drive he wasn't sure he had made the right choice. Gella's blue eyes were as round and big as the Garos IV's twin moons. "What is it, uncle Kyp?" she asked with a quivering voice. He belatedly remembered his first reaction to the sight of the Yavin IV jungles after the peaceful lakes of Deyer and the mineshafts of Kessel. And he wasn't five years old at the time.

"Trees. Bushes. You've never seen them?"

The girl shook her head. "No."

Right. Kyp forgot that she was a daughter of space merchants. Probably hasn't seen anything except spaceports in all her short life. "You remember the story Miko told you, about the princess who got lost in the forest? Well, this is a forest."

"Will we meet a princess, then?"

The Jedi chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint you, honey, but I doubt that. The only princess I know is a very urbane person."

Gella's eyes became even bigger, although he could swear it was impossible. "You know a princess?"

"Yes, she is my best friend's wife. I suppose, I know even two princesses, since his daughter can be counted as one, too. Oh, wait, not two. Three. I forgot about Tenel Ka." He smirked inwardly. _Putting it like that, there is an inordinate amount of princesses around me. Pity I can't be counted as a Prince Charming. _

"Are they pretty? Do they wear diadems? Did they marry princes?" The girl was bubbling with the excitement of finding such a perfect source of information. Kyp, on the other hand, had a hard time trying to suppress his laugh.

"They are pretty, yes. And they wear diadems… occasionally." He was trying unsuccessfully to clear his inner vision from the image of four-year-old Jaina Solo with a fake corusca gem diadem in her dark brown hair, which contrasted horribly with her boyish pants and shirt, haughtily demanding a third ice-cream during one of his bouts in babysitting Han's kids. Kyp smiled, remembering this trip to the Skydome Botanical Gardens. He had bought her the ice-cream, of course. Somehow he never could refuse Jaina anything. Han used to have a good laugh watching his tiny daughter commanding the young Jedi around and teased him mercilessly over it.

"So did they marry princes, uncle Kyp?"

Gella's voice returned him to reality. "Oh, princes. Sorry to disappoint you again, but one of them actually refused to marry a prince and married my friend instead. And as for others, they are a little too young to get married yet."

The girl pouted. He obviously was shattering some cornerstones of her universe. Kyp actually felt guilty for a moment and added hastily: "But nobody says they won't. I'm sure there are some princes for them… somewhere around."

The forest around the road became less dense and the air was beginning to taste salty. They were getting close to the cliffs. Even through the canopy and over the hum of the engines Kyp could hear the distant sound of the tide, powerful and steady, like a beating of a giant heart. A couple of minutes more and they were under the sunlight again. He felt his lips stretching out in an involuntary smile. Ahead of them was a field of various multicolored flowers that was seemingly merged with the green-blue waters of the Locura Ocean. Kyp knew very well that it was an illusion; there was actually almost two hundred meters from the top of the cliffs to the ocean level at this place. Nevertheless, it was beautiful. The scent of the sun-warmed flowers was thick in the air, mixing with the subtly salty sea smell. He took a deep breath, not for the first time wishing he could invent some way to bottle it, and hit the accelerator.

The terrain began to slope down and soon he could see their destination – the narrow entrance to a small valley, completely imperceptible from a distance. They dived into it, crossing the border between the blinding sunlight and deep shadows and Kyp slowed down. No matter how well he knew what he was doing, he didn't want to risk driving at his previous speed until his eyes adjusted themselves to the dimmer lighting. When they were far enough into the valley, the Jedi took a small flat device out of his pocket and pressed the button, deactivating a security field that protected the inhabitants of this place from the predators, of both four-legged and two-legged variety. Right about that moment the valley began to widen, allowing more sunlight to shine in and showing signs of habitation, like some carefully groomed fruit trees and berry bushes. They moved past a water spring that poured a clear stream of water right from the valley's wall into a big, roughly carved stone bowl. The sound of the speeder's engines echoed from the valley's sides, making it twice as noisy and three times as annoying as in open space. Kyp was absolutely sure that by now all the occupants had been alerted to their arrival. His lips quirked. _My equivalent of 'honey, I'm home.' _He turned the speeder to the right, made a half-circle, narrowly avoiding another fruit tree and came to a sudden halt barely a step away from the bare feet of a sandy-haired slender woman with a Firelance blaster rifle in one hand. The other hand was firmly planted on her hip.

"You big bragging baby," she said with feeling when he opened the canopy. "I suppose I should be grateful you didn't attempt to fly your X-wing in here."

"Yet," he answered with an impish smile. "Can't say the idea isn't tempting." He nodded at the rifle in her hand. "Mind putting the safety on, Aren?"

"Speaking of tempting ideas," she muttered, enabling the safety. She moved to the driver's side and hugged him around the neck with her free hand, planting a kiss on his forehead. "Welcome home, little brother."

He kissed her in the cheek. "Thanks, sis. Sorry it took me so long this time. I was busy."

"I heard." Only now she noticed he wasn't alone in the vehicle. "Hi," she said softly to the girl, who was sitting quietly on the backseat, looking a little scared. Aren tracked the direction of her gaze and put the rifle on the ground, out of the girl's sight. "Who is she, Kyp?" she asked in Seighne.

He answered in the same language: "Long story. I only hope you'll not kill me when you hear the conclusion of it." He leaned over the back of the driver's seat and unclipped the restrains. "Let me introduce you," he said in Basic this time. "This is Gella and this," he nodded at the direction of the woman, "is my sister Aren." He stroked the girl's dark head and said quietly: "Nothing to fear. You are safe here, little one." She silently threw her hands around his neck and he lifted her from the seat and out of the speeder. "Are you hungry?"

She nodded, and then shook her head. "So, which is it?" he smiled to her.

"Can I go around look a little, uncle Kyp?" Gella was clearly enchanted by this place, so different from what she was used to.

"Of course. Just don't go farther than the spring on this side and…" he turned to woman who he called his sister. "Are the gates closed?"

"No. Rik is checking fishing nets. He should be back soon."

"Oh, well." He turned back to the girl. "There are gates in that wall," he pointed to the rocks that closed the valley from the sea. "Don't go past them. Deal?"

"Deal!" squeaked the tyke and took off immediately. Kyp whistled sharply and she stopped, turning back to him with impatience. "You can eat all the fruits and berries you like, just not too much, or you'll make yourself sick. And they taste better if you wash them first. Understood?"

She nodded and ran to the closest fruit tree. "Well," he said with a note of envy in his voice, "I think we'll not see her again for at least an hour."

"At least." Aren shook her head and picked up her rifle from the ground. "'Uncle'? Mind telling me what's it all about?"

"Mind feeding me first? I'm sick of ration bars and frozen food."

"Poor baby. I think I can whip something up until Rik brings back whatever he manages to catch today." She turned and headed back to the house, not paying any attention to the fact that he wasn't going with her. She knew his homecoming ritual.

Kyp turned and went to a big round rock, which was solidly planted in the ground approximately in the middle of this part of the valley. He sat on the sun-warmed surface, tailor-style, and relaxed, expanding his senses, probing, absorbing, getting warmer inside from the familiarity of buzzing life around, but in the same time exploring and cataloguing. Garos IV wasn't exactly susceptible to earthquakes, but Tahika Cliffs were always unstable. Landslides were a common occurrence and although this section of the cliffs was a relatively stable one, he preferred to be safe than sorry. But he hadn't found new cracks in at least five years and the ones that were already there weren't expanding. He was just as glad they weren't, for he had no idea how to fix something this big and complex if the need arose.

_Now the house._ The stocky, ivy-covered gray building stood attached to the curve of the valley where it bent to form the part that separated the inhabited space from the sea wind's fury. It wasn't architecturally beautiful; in fact, if not for the windows and one small tower, which was the only part of the structure that was raised above the stony wall's level and faced the ocean, one could easily take the old house for a part of the surrounding rocks. It was made from the same stones and had stood in the same place long enough to became a natural part of its surroundings. But the age had its drawbacks. The weight of the thick stone walls made the structure sink little by little in the ground. Not all the parts were lowering at the same rate, so, despite the amazingly durable masonry work, cracks began to appear. _That_ he could, at least, try to remedy. It was a hard work, but it could be done. Raise some parts of the walls, lower another, stabilize the ground… last time he spent almost five hours fixing the old hut and about as much in a trance afterwards. But, by all appearances, it was a successful attempt. No new cracks. _Seems like_ _I_ c_an skip digging and shoveling for now. _He sent a last sweeping overall probe and noticed a new presence nearby, a familiar one. A couple of moments later a figure of a tall, gangly, tanned to the point of appearing dark-skinned teenage boy with a mane of raven-black, slightly curly hair, appeared seemingly right from the stone a couple of dozens meters from him. The newcomer was carrying a big and apparently heavy bucket in one hand, sticking the other out for balance. Kyp untangled his legs and leaped from the boulder.

"Hi, Rik!" the Jedi greeted him, taking the wet bucket from the boy's hand and briefly embracing him.

"Hello, Kyp." The teenager hugged him back, albeit somewhat awkwardly, but his welcoming smile was a genuine one. He was already almost the same height as the Jedi and it was obvious he wasn't going to stop growing anytime soon.

"You don't seem to be surprised to see me," Kyp noticed.

"I'm not," Rik answered, rolling his bilberry-black eyes in a universal gesture of an annoyed teen. "Mom called me, said you were home and that you've brought a houseguest, so, quote, you better quit daydreaming about pretty mermaids and get your butt onshore, end of the quote. Who is this guest, Uncle?"

"A cute five-year-old munchkin named Gella. And about why she is here, well, that's what I want to discuss with your mother and you now. Before she eats all your berry bushes bare and decides she has had enough of exploration."

Rik opened the back door and they entered the kitchen, which was already full of appetizing aromas. It was a big room, with an old-fashioned stove in the corner, a big stone countertop with a rack full of various tools above it and equally big and sturdy round dinner table in the center. The walls were white and bare, save for the bunches of dried herbs and flowers here and there and a couple of things that were obviously intended as the good luck charms. They were made also from flowers, wheat ears and straw, all twisted together artfully. There were also a couple of dark wooden half-columns in each wall, dented and chopped in various places and joined together with the wooden beams right under the ceiling.

"What did you get, son?" Aren, who was standing near the stove watching something simmering in the pot, asked.

"A little of everything. And I'm _not_ helping with the cooking. I have three nets to repair."

"Rik," Kyp said quietly, "the nets can wait. This talk can't. So sit and find something to occupy your hands with. I even promise to help you with the boat later."

"Like you wouldn't anyway," the boy snorted, then took two knifes that were much more suited for military usage than for kitchen from the drawer under the counter. He threw one of them to Kyp, who snatched it from the air. "All right, so what's the deal with that girl?"

The Jedi took off his fancy shirt and sat on the chair next to the bucket, preparing to get down to business. "Our last operation was to put one nasty pirate-cum-slaver out of business. It all went surprisingly well, but…" He described Gella's situation quickly. "So here she is – her father was killed before her eyes, her mother is in a clinic for mentally disturbed and there are no relatives that she knows about or that I has been able to find. Keit wasn't very optimistic about Canna's chances. I could have given the girl to an orphanage, but, frankly speaking, I think she's already had more than enough in her life." He raised his head and looked into Aren's smoky gray eyes, then into Rik's black ones. "There is no way to put it smoothly and politely. I would like you to take her in. She deserves a chance at normal life. If I could give her that, I would, but it's not an option. So?"

Aren stood silently, leaning on the countertop and seemingly absorbed in studying her clasped hands. Her delicate features were blank, unnaturally so. Rik sat on the second chair with the knife in one hand and a dead fish in the other, looking in turns at his mother and his uncle, saying nothing. The silence was as thick and as oppressive as the smog on Coruscant. Kyp waited, suppressing the urge to read their emotions. He couldn't really add anything to what he already said. It was their decision.

At last his sister raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes, gray ones to green. "Yes," she said quietly.

"Yes," her son echoed.

"That simple, huh?" Kyp asked, surprised. "I was preparing to grovel."

"You daft dummy," Aren said with a ghost of a smile. "No, it's not simple. But I would like to give her the kind of life father wasn't able to give to you. I don't want to see another child without a childhood."

Kyp took her hand and kissed the palm gently. "Thank you."

She tousled his hair, but didn't say anything.

"You know," Rik said hesitantly, "I was thinkin'…"

Kyp bit back a mocking remark. Barely.

"Thanks," his nephew said sarcastically and bit at his full lower lip. He cut the fish in his hands open and began eviscerating it with the precise, habitual movements of his tanned, long-fingered hands. "I can't get this song you wrote about Claire out of my head. Many people believe in reincarnation. Our ancestors believed in it. What if it's not a coincidence? What if the Force, or the gods or whatever sent her back to us? Then if we don't take her…" His voice trailed off hesitantly.

Kyp was afraid to look at Aren, heck, he was afraid to breathe. This idea hadn't entered his head at all. Now he understood why Keit thought taking Gella to Aren would be a good thing. Probably, just probably, there was a chance to heal the old wound a little. She once told him that the void left by a dead child in the mother's heart could never be healed completely. But he would gladly settle for even a partial healing. He could sense his sister's turmoil now, even without trying to read her; she was practically banging at his shields with her fists. Proverbially speaking, of course.

"I don't know," he said at last. "I really don't. We all are spirits in the Force, after all… why not?"

Rik finished his fish and looked up at Aren. "Mom?"

"What? Oh. Sorry. Give it to me. You too, brother."

Kyp looked at his hands. He was holding a clean, disemboweled fish. When did he manage to do it? He didn't notice. For all his years away from Deyer, the habits ingrained in his early childhood were still here. _Easy as cleaning a fish_, Zeth used to say when trying to teach his little brother something new. _Zeth. If these talks about reincarnation are true… come back to me, Zeth. I will recognize you, brother, I swear. Just come back._

"Rodi?"

He must have made Aren worry here. She rarely called him by this name. Kyp handed her the cleaned fish silently and thoroughly wiped his hands with a cleanser tissue, taking his time.

"You were thinking about Zeth, weren't you?" she asked quietly. It was amazing how well she could read his mind without any usage of the Force at all.

He nodded. "It doesn't get easier with time."

"It never does." She moved behind his back and put her hands around his bare shoulders, hugging him tightly and putting her head in the curve where his neck met his shoulder. "But we are still lucky."

"Yes," he said, treading his fingers through her long, straight, sandy hair.

"And don't you dare to forget that!"

"I won't. Don't worry." He smirked. "Come on, I think we're grossing Rik out."

The teenager gave him a disgusted look. "If I ever get that touchy-feely, shoot me, please."

His mother glared at him: "I will."

Kyp nodded at the cleaned fish. "So, what you are going to do with it?"

"A soup," answered Aren, straightening up. "With roots and herbs. And I'll make a big pot, so there will be something left for us women after you and this bottomless pit over there are through with it. Beats me; I'll never understand where all this food is going and why you both aren't as fat as Hutts at the rate you're eating."

"Just be grateful you've never had to feed Skywalker," Kyp laughed. "Rik, can you please get Gella? It has been over an hour already. She's somewhere around the spring, I think."

"Gotcha." The black-haired boy ran out with such haste that he forgot to leave the knife. When he realized that, he didn't bother to return. He just half-turned back and threw the knife into one of the columns. The impact left the tool firmly implanted in the old wood approximately at the head level.

"Nice toss," Kyp commented with satisfaction.

They dined right here in the kitchen, at the big round table. After all those weeks at mercy of the NR Defensive Force rations, Aren's cooking tasted heavenly. Gella was a little apprehensive about the soup at first, but after seeing Kyp and Rik's enthusiasm, agreed to give it a try. 'A try' resulted in her eating a second serving, after which she promptly began to nod. Apparently, all the excitement of the day caught up with her. Kyp scooped the girl up and took her into the guest room, laying the tired tyke on the wide bed. She curled around a pillow and fell asleep as quickly and completely as only a small child could.

"We need to go shopping tomorrow," Aren said from the doorway.

"Yeah. I brought a change of clothes for her, but that's all she has."

"She will need more clothes. And toys." Aren looked at the way Gella was curled around the pillow. "And stuffed animals." She smiled a small, wistful smile. "Should be fun. I almost forgot already how delightful a shopping for a child could be."

Kyp snorted. "Especially if you have enough money."

His sister threw him an amused look. "Is this the voice of experience speaking?"

"Of course." He let her out and closed the door, leaving it slightly open. "I had the indiscretion to take the Solo kids to a huge toy shop once. The problem was, I had just enough money to buy a couple of ice creams and some street food. But they were insistent. And _of course_ they _promised_ they would not ask me to buy anything. 'We'll look only, Kyppie, honest!'" the Jedi drawled in a pretty passable imitation of a very young Jaina Solo. "It was the last time I fell for that particular line," he added in his normal voice. "Of course, she had found plenty of other ways to torment me. The things that girl made me to do for her…"

By this time his sister was laughing aloud. "So how did you manage to lure them out?"

"Wasn't easy, believe me. I thought I would have to just put them down with the Force and endure the reprimand from Leia patiently and submissively like the good little Jedi I was," he said in a completely serious voice, which contradicted horribly with the devilish gleam in his eyes. "But the threat of me not agreeing to baby-sit them anymore worked just as well. They were well aware that they would never be able to manipulate Winter as they were manipulating me."

"I wish I had a holo of this scene," Aren forced out between the giggles. She laughed even harder when she saw a convincingly horrified look on her brother's face.

"Very funny," Kyp scowled half-heartedly. "That's what Han said when he heard the tale. He's probably still mourning the loss of a good blackmail material." With that they entered the kitchen.

"Mind sharing the joke?" Rik asked, looking up from the third serving of the soup he helped himself to in their absence.

"Actually, I do," the Jedi smirked. "Aren, is there any soup still in existence? We shouldn't have left the helpless pot at his mercy."

"I was considerate," the boy said with an offended air. "Keep it up and next time I won't."

"You've scared me, mate." Kyp poured the remains of the soup into his plate and tore himself a piece of warm bread. "So, what are we going to do for the rest of the day?"

"The nets," Rik said succinctly. "The boat. The watermill. I hope that's enough to keep you occupied till supper."

"As you say, chief," his uncle answered without any trace of sarcasm. "What's wrong with the watermill?"

"I don't know. But it's about a third less effective than it should be. If we don't find what the problem is, we'll have to be very careful about spending the energy. And the repair company has a waiting list as long as a ten years old sea-snake." Rik finished his meal and took his plate to a sink. "How long are you planning to be here?"

"I can manage a week or so," Kyp answered. "But bear in mind, I also have a lot of plans for you two. We'll discuss them tomorrow, if that's all right with you?"

"Ooookey," the teen said. "Let's not waste the time then. I'll wait for you outside." With that he quite noisily tramped out.

Aren winced.

"He'll grow out of that," Kyp said in a consolatory tone. "I think it's a teenage thing."

"Hope so," the woman muttered. "If he'll grow up to his grandfather's size and not grow out of this habit, this house is a ruin."

"I like your optimistic outlook." Kyp bent slightly and kissed her on the cheek. "Gotta run, or I'll fall out of Rik's graces here."

Rik's mother smiled. "He's bossy, isn't he?"

"He can back up his bossiness. That's what I wanted to achieve, after all." He winked at her and went to his room to change.

Aren looked sadly at his retreating back. _I just wish you would have your own children to teach, brother. One day…_

**

* * *

_Rann Na Móna, same day, evening._ **

* * *

There was always something exciting for Kyp in such simple thing as a family meal. It dragged forth the vague childhood memories and feelings and made him feel warm, fuzzy and a little disconnected from his own self. A couple of times along the years he even caught himself doing something childish and silly, like rolling balls out of the warm, fresh bread or playing with the food on his plate; he wasn't even aware he was doing it. Aren had the gall to find such slips endearing, but Kyp couldn't say he shared the sentiment. Thankfully, it didn't happen when Rik was around, or he would never hear the end of it. His nephew possessed a razor-sharp tongue much like his grandfather's and was pretty adept in using it ever since he was at least seven years old. He was a precocious boy in many ways.

This time, though, they all were much too tired to linger at the table. Gella got up for just as long as was needed to eat a piece of a pie and drink a glass of juice, and was carried to the bed again, this time by Rik. Aren did the dishes, while Kyp made a pot of the light fruity tea favored by both Aren and Rik and a mug of caf for himself. He put it all on a tray and headed outside, making a seat on the porch steps and letting the night's serene beauty wash over him, calming, soothing, restoring. He heard the familiar light steps behind his back and said without turning: "The tea is on the tray."

"I know," a soprano voice said with that lilting Garosian accent he himself had to curb sometimes in his speech. "And I know you don't want to go away again."

Leave it to Aren to answer to something left unsaid. "I don't have a choice."

"You do." She sat on the step, keeping the tray between them. "There is always a choice, isn't there?"

"So you and Skywalker keep saying."

"Even if you got eaten by a rancor…"

"…you still have two exits. Yeah. Theoretically."

"You _did_ have the choice, brother. You still do. You are making it every time you visit, if not every day. And it's still your choice. So why are you so bitter?"

He smiled ruefully. "I'm bitching, yes?"

"Not quite yet, but close. Why, dearest? What happened?"

"Nothing, really. Nothing new, at least." He paused, trying to formulate something he couldn't get a proper grip on yet. "Keit said something this morning that might be close to the mark. He said, basically, that I'm too good in too many things and I'll end up not living to my full potential in any of them. It's close, but not exactly true. What I feel is that none of those things are enough for me. None of them by itself. Ah, kriff, I don't know! I've played this little game of choices plenty of times during the last year, mostly during meditations. Imagined myself as a Jedi Master and nothing else, as a singer and nothing else, even as just a plain, boring Rodi Segan living in his father's home with his dear sister – and nothing else…"

"…and nothing felt right, yes?"

"Even worse, each one felt wrong. I think you can understand the difference."

"Indeed. You know, brother, I thought you are a little too young for a midlife crisis."

"Midlife crisis? Is that what it is?" He shook his head with a mocking smile. "You certainly have a way of labeling. It doesn't feel _that_ trivial."

He heard her warm, light laugh in the darkness. "You are not a trivial person, Kyp Durron. Nothing is trivial with you. But yes, I think it's that simple. Maybe you _should_ take a break for a while."

"I can't."

She didn't answer. He waited a little, then prompted: "Well?"

"Well what?"

"You have the loudest silence of any person I know."

"What else can I say to you? I wish it wasn't that kind of choice, but it is, at least in your mind. I wish you weren't that bent on retribution, but you are. I wish you would take a break, but you wouldn't. What else is there for me? I'll wait until you find the cement to put the pieces of you together. This is something nobody can do for you."

"You think I will?"

"I _know_ you will. You were never the one for defeat, brother. And we'll be here for you. We'll always be here."

This time the silence was shorter, but no less potent. "Actually," he said quietly, hesitantly, "I'm not so sure of that."

"What!" The incredulous exclamation came from behind their backs, from the dark doorway to the house. "What the kriff do you mean by that?"

"How long have you been here, Rik?" Aren was clearly surprised.

"About five minutes or so," Kyp answered. "You see, he can be quiet."

"I'm so relieved," she said dryly, feeling anything but relief. It hadn't dawned on her before that Rik's noisy clumsiness could be a deliberate deception, and she thought she knew her son. Not enough, apparently.

"Never mind my little tricks," the teen said impatiently. "School habit. If Kyp didn't want me to listen he would have called me on it from the start." He plopped on the step just above the one Kyp and Aren were sharing, making them half-turn in his direction. "Why the Sith do you think we'll not be here for you?"

Aren made a displeased noise, but, apparently, decided not to lecture her son about his choice of words right now.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you two about," Kyp answered, "and the key word is 'here'. I would never doubt your love for me, Rik. You know this, don't you?"

"Yeah," his nephew whispered, somewhat ashamed. "Sorry. But what is it, then?"

A stray breath of a warm air from the field above found its way into the valley, bringing the heady, strong aroma of sun-baked, half-dried flowers. It teased their hair and made the trees bow and their leaves whisper for a moment. A night bird cried once, twice, a low, quivering sound, then all was quiet again, save for the ever-present rhythmic rote of the ocean.

"For the last… oh, about two months, probably longer," Kyp began, "I was having some, let's call them premonitions. I was never the one for predicting the future and I can count how many times I felt something like that with the fingers of one hand. But when I do have a feeling like that, it usually proves important. It's nothing definite, which is pretty damn frustrating, like the Force is trying to tell me something, but I can't get on the proper wavelength. All I know is that I have a vague feeling of something big and bad that's going to happen. Not just to me, or to you, or to this planet; it's something bigger and scarier. Lately I feel it like an itch inside my head. Very unpleasant."

Kyp took a sip from his cooled mug, made a face and continued: "I don't know what's going to go wrong. But sometimes I can feel things that are _right_. We took a ship in the last raid, a pirate freighter. I was at loss about what to do with it, until it occurred to me to give it to you."

"To us?" Aren asked, not quite believing her ears. "Why would we need a freighter?"

The Jedi shrugged. "To be able to get the kriff out of this planet if such a need arises? It's the most plausible explanation." He drank his cold caf and put the mug back on the tray. "It felt right, sister. Very right. This vapin' itch vanished for days after I decided to do it."

He could feel Aren's hesitation. She was very attached to her home and her planet; in fact, as far as he knew, she hasn't left Garos IV even once in her life. He could understand that – Garos IV was a beautiful place, one of the very few in this galaxy that managed to balance a decent technological level with the preservation of its natural environment, not to mention its old and original culture, deceitful in its apparent simplicity. The very idea of leaving the planet would have been terrifying to her.

He sighed and took her hands in his.

"Aren. Sister. I don't like it any more than you do, believe me. But I'm asking you to do this, for me. I'll be much more at ease if I know you have everything I can think of to stay alive. I can't stay here, I just can't; there is too much work to do. I can't just sit around and wait. It may happen years from now or it may not happen at all. I'm not infallible, you know."

"Yeah, I'm very much aware of that." She shrugged and squeezed his hands lightly. "All right. Is it anything like those sims you terrorized us with?"

"Just who was terrorized?" Rik snorted.

Kyp didn't even try to conceal his sigh of relief. "Some of it, yes. It's a pirate ship, so it was subjected to some… modifications. Not to mention some things I put on it two weeks ago on Bilbringi. But the basics are the same. Two or three test flights to let you get a grip on things…"

"Test flights?" Rik interrupted him. "You mean you are gonna take us _out_?"

"Yes," Kyp said, trying not to smile. "Is that a problem?"

"Oh, man," the teenager said with awe. "Oh man. No, not a problem at all!"

**

* * *

_Rann Na Móna, next morning._ **

* * *

"Stang, I hate this stuff!" 

Kyp pulled out the breathing tube from his mouth and took off the headpiece. "Ditto. I'll see if I can lay my hands on some Mon Cal's breathing gel. Much better than these horrid tubes and oxygen cylinders." He shook his head, sending the drops of water in all directions. "I should take you both to Mon Calamari for a vacation some day. Or Chandrila. The water there is warm enough that you can dive for hours without these vapin' suits."

"You at least look good in it. I look like a worm who fell in a tar and lived to tell about it."

Kyp rolled his eyes. Teenagers will be teenagers, no matter how smart they were. "You didn't see me when I was your age, Rik. Just wait five years or so, will you? You will have the pleasure of ripping poor old me of all the girls by then."

Rik snorted. "I doubt it somehow. Wanna bet?"

His uncle laughed outright. "Nope. I'll wait five years and bet with you then. It will be much more profitable."

"That says the man who was running all but naked through the Jedi Academy on a bet for a mangy hundred credits!"

Kyp silently thanked the Force that he had the good sense not to tell Aren or Rik about some of his more outrageous bets. He wasn't exactly embarrassed about them; what else he could do to earn some money while being stuck on a remote moon with a handful of other people? It was either taking insane bets or having to ask Han or Luke for money, and _that_ was not only embarrassing, it was humiliating. He was still amazed that some of these stories didn't make it to the next generation of Jedi students, at least in details. Apparently, his contemporaries had enough tact to understand that he wasn't exactly doing what he did for fun. Even if it was funny – sometimes.

He decided to change the subject. "Let's check the rest. I'm more than ready to be done with these repairs."

Rik threw him an amused look, but allowed the change without any commentaries. The boy knew that baiting Kyp Durron wasn't exactly the safest form of entertainment in the galaxy, and he knew it from an experience. He went a little too far once in his teasing about his uncle's arachnophobia and when Kyp got tired of matching him barb for barb, he got his story. It was three years ago and he still broke out in a cold sweat each time he remembered the tale. Not to mention a couple of other times when he had been imprudent enough to want an honest answer to his questions. His uncle was always honest with him, sure. It was just that each time his answers were much worse than Rik expected. Over the years he learned not to ask casually.

They worked in silence, testing and checking the machinery, sometimes tightening the bolts, lubricating the joints or changing the lining. The watermill was old, but, just as the house, it was made to withstand centuries. The setup was quite simple, but very efficient. Rann Na Móna didn't have a harbor; there wasn't a place along all the length of Tahika Cliffs that could be called a harbor. The vertical slopes of the cliffs made sailing all but impossible; a crashing tide at the bottom didn't allow mooring. But the Nature provided another possibility.

What they had was a big cave, roomy, but with a relatively narrow and twisting entrance. About two hundred years ago someone got the bright idea to install a watermill in the cave mouth just under the lowest water level mark, and since then the high and low tides of Locura Ocean provided the inhabitants of the estate with a never-ending source of energy. It also served as a breakwater, and at the high tide the water covered the mill enough to allow sailing in and out. A vertical tunnel with a lift to the surface completed the system. The need for a regular maintenance was the one and only drawback to this arrangement, especially since it required two people for the safety reasons, but as long as the job was done properly and in time, the house could function completely independently. And the Segan family treasured independence and freedom above everything else.

They finished their work in about half an hour. Just in time, too, for the water was rising already. They secured the boat and took the steps to the narrow ledge with the lift entrance two at a time.

"Whew," Rik breathed out. "Not a minute too soon. Sometimes I really hate your sense of drama."

"Tough," Kyp snorted. "I didn't even begin to show you the real drama."

"Yeah," the boy agreed readily. "I could have been forced to do all this with mom. _That_ would be really dramatic."

They smiled to each other in perfect understanding. Aren Denar was many things, but a mechanic she was not. That was probably why she still had a museum rarity for a kitchen. Anything more complicated hated her with a vengeance and the feeling was quite mutual. If not for Rik, she would have still been living without a new comm and a holoprojector, though, strangely enough, her inaptitude didn't extend to blasters and blaster rifles. Kyp always thought she was just considering them a part of her natural environment; from what Rurik told him, he had taught her to shoot way before he taught her to read.

Kyp unzipped his clinging thermal suit and peeled it off his shoulders and torso, sighing in relief and closing his eyes briefly from sheer bliss. When he opened them, Rik was looking at him with a strange expression in his black eyes. The Jedi cocked an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

"It can be bloody intimidating sometimes to be your nephew, y'know?"

"It can be bloody intimidating just _to be_ sometimes, Rik. Period."

The teen eyed him warily. "Another pearl of Jedi wisdom?"

Kyp smiled, half-sadly, half-mockingly. "I highly doubt that such particular wisdom exists. It's just experience."

"Yeah," Rik mumbled. "Whatever."

They rode for a couple of minutes in silence, listening to the lift's noises. Then the boy spoke again.

"How does it feel to be such a winner in the genetic lottery?"

The Jedi laughed bitterly. "That's what you think I am? I already answered this question." He looked at Rik intently. _What the kriff prompted this? I would have never thought he could be that insecure._ "Don't envy me. All things come with a price, and mine was pretty high. Still is. And, by the way, you are not a loser in this lottery. Far from it."

Rik's full, sensual lips curled in a sardonic smile. "Does it mean I'll have to pay my price too?"

"Undoubtedly. I just hope it'll not be too high."

"You hope? That's reassuring." The words were fairly saturated with sarcasm.

Kyp took a breath and counted to ten. "Rik, despite what you might think, I'm not all-knowing. I'll always help you, but could you please at least try to tell me what the kriff is wrong with you?"

The words seemed to strike home. For a moment the sarcastic smart-assed teen was gone and in his place was a bewildered, scared boy. Then the lift stopped with a jolt and the door creaked open. It was enough to give Rik an opportunity to put his mask back in place, minus the sarcasm.

"I'm not sure I know it myself, yet," he said somberly. "But I'll talk as soon as I figure it out."

"We can figure it out together, if you want."

"Yeah, but I need at least make up a list of questions myself."

"Good enough," Kyp nodded. "Come on, the big shopping adventure is waiting for us."

"You sure know how to lighten the mood," Rik moaned. "Can you all just forget I exist for the rest of the day?"

"Nope. If I have to suffer, so do you. Have to keep up the family spirit."

The boy murmured something that included the mention of a certain spirit and the certain parts of his anatomy in the same sentence, but Kyp decided not to make an issue out of that. After all, he was hardly Mr. No Cursing himself.

They took a shower and changed into the city clothes. Kyp took care choosing them; his sister liked when he dressed up as a Seighne; it was another manifestation of their bond. Symbolic things were her weakness, and for her it was not just an outfit – it was their tradition, their home and their family, which they built from the ruins of their previous ones. Besides, he liked the style: black tight-fitting pants made from a thin, but very durable soft leather, soft high boots with cuffs, and elaborately embroidered long white shirt with loose sleeves and a high collar. A black leather sleeveless waistcoat, in par with the pants, was enough to hide his lightsaber, but a blaster would be a little too noticeable. After some pondering, he decided to leave blaster at home, but put a throwing knife in each boot. There was no such thing as too many weapons in his book.

The last touch was braiding one of the longer locks at the left side of his face and plating the Segan clan sign – a stylized bronze arrowhead - into it. Kyp looked at himself in the mirror and couldn't help but smile in satisfaction. Sure, it was vanity, but why, after all, not? It certainly didn't harm anybody. Well, there was, of course, Rik with his teenage insecurities, but Kyp suspected that his nephew would be the first to ridicule him if he tried to downplay himself for his sake.

Aren's smile when she saw him was a twin to his own. She had also changed into a simple high-collared blue dress, which clang to her torso but flowed freely around her arms and legs, ending just above the knees. The collar and the hems of skirt and sleeves were embroidered with a same pattern as his shirt. Rik, on the other hand, opted for something military-style with a lot of holes, pockets and strange labels.

"Someone decided to make money from the leftover Rebel Alliance supplies?" Kyp asked. "This thing needs a couple of blaster holes for authenticity."

The teen scowled. "Spare me. It's the latest fashion."

His mother looked up as if hoping for some divine intervention, but didn't say anything.

They ate a quick lunch in the kitchen. Gella had been up since early that morning and was shedding her excessive energy all over the house. As a result, Aren was looking positively frazzled.

"Seems like I forgot this part, too," she answered to Kyp's amused glance. "I hope it's just a matter of getting back into practice."

"I hope so. Pity we can't link her up to the dynamo."

"You know, from a mother's point of view this idea has a certain appeal…"

They continued to joke and tease each other all the way to Ariana. Four hours later, after a visit to four different clothing and shoe stores, and the two biggest toy stores in the city (Rik was conspicuously reluctant to leave the second one, which had a huge section of portable sims of all sorts) they were hungry and tired, and even Gella looked like she had had enough of the excitement. Rik was all for heading home for dinner, but Aren announced that she would be damned to all known in religious history hells if she was going to cook after this expedition. So they were heading to a nice family-friendly cantina, when Kyp's comlink rang. He fished it from his pocket with irritation.

"Durron." After listening to what the person on the other end was saying he pressed the accelerator pedal to the floor and said only one word:

"Shavit!"

* * *

**Well, trivia, commentary and other stuff.**

Who Kyp suspects in "spreading the legend" about billions killed on Carida? If you are really interested, e-mail me. I'll explain. Disclaimer: devoted Corran Horn fans may do that at their own risk.:-) There are also other factors, but you'll read about that in the next part.

The practical joke Kirana Ti almost killed Kyp for? Well, with all due respect to the author, it actually belongs to The Jedi Princess. Those of you who read 'Papa Don't Preach' probably remember this bit, but for all others, there is a quote: "_He sighed, flipping onto his stomach. "You know what Kyp? I think you're losing your mind over this girl. I mean, you're already talking to yourself. That's a bad sign you know. Next you'll be running through the corridors with no pants and your underwear on your head trying to convince everyone that the cook's surprise is trying to eat you." He blinked. "Okay, maybe I did that back at the temple, but it was Kirana Ti's cooking, and it really did eat you from the inside out. Besides, Kam dared me to do it, and I did get 100 credits for it_." I liked the picture, but then I thought, well, why would Kyp do something like this? Probably for fun, probably… for money?

A woman who Kyp tried to push in killing him? Fen Nabon from 'Simple Tricks'. And I'll get to this scene later, I promise.

Two non-Basic languages on the plaque on the professor's door? One of them is Seighne, the language of majority of Garos IV original population. It's the same language as in some of Kyp's songs and, as you can guess, in our universe it would be Gaelic. The other one is the language of Sundars, the emigrants from the second habitable planet in this system, Sundari. They make a substantial part of Garos IV population by now.

Who told Keit Mantel about Kyp? Well, it was Aren. She knew her little brother well enough by that time to do it behind his back. And yes, Keit knew Rurik. Not closely, but well enough.

Yes, Kyp took some psychology courses with Keit. Mostly basic stuff, nothing fancy.

Aren, as you probably already guessed, is Rurik's daughter. This place, the valley and the house, belonged to the family for hundreds of years. You will know more about it in the next part.

Gella's father was killed by Catarrik's men for disobedience, as an object lesson.

Claire was Aren's daughter, firstborn. She died couple of days after birth. A song is already mentioned in part 1 "Claire In Heaven" by Capercaillie. Read the lyrics:

Claire In Heaven  
I was no more than three days old  
Too young to speak, too young to count my toes  
I think of fields where I might run  
This moral twilight I was plucked from  
Up here we have no goals  
You tear your hearts, you claw your souls  
I wonder at this life that passed me by  
But still I smile

Chorus:  
Although I'm not with you down there  
I sit alone up here and stare  
It's me, my name is Claire  
Claire in heaven  
Claire in heaven

I wait for my next life patiently  
I'm in no rush because of what I see  
It's hard for me to understand  
I gaze from poisoned sea to poisoned land  
Up here we see a new tomorrow  
Your world's not round, your world is narrow  
For me, I just had a while  
But still I smile

Although I'm not with you down there  
I sit alone up here and stare  
It's me, my name is Claire

Chorus.

**Faces:**

Aren Denar – Elsa Pataki

Rik Denar – well, I found a perfect model for him on one of Russian photo sites, but since doesn't allow links, you'll have to mail me to get the link. I also have a gallery for all the characters online, if you're interested.

All stuff that could have been checked was checked. Garos IV history, terrain, names, blasters and so on. Mostly by "Essential Guide to Planets and Moons", "Arms and Equipment Guide", Unofficial Star Wars Encyclopedia and "Encyclopedia Galactica". If someone notices any mistakes, please let me know.


	6. Part 5

**Part 5** **

* * *

_Ariana, about 20 minutes before._

* * *

**

Ivar Tharas, the lead investigator of the second division of the Ariana City Police Department wasn't having a good day. In fact, he wasn't having a good week. The second division dealt with heavy crimes like murder and kidnapping, and right now he stood in a small public garden in one of the quiet areas around the University, looking at a possible crime scene – a children's playground. It was the forth kidnapping in two weeks, the forth child missing. All of them were boys, all of them between eight and eleven years old. All were plucked from the public places. The fact that there were no bodies found yet was a small consolation; with an abundance of the forests around Ariana, hiding bodies was not a tricky feat. He wearily rubbed his face and looked on his second-in-command.

"Witnesses?"

"None yet. Our guys are asking."

Tharas didn't have much hope that they would find any. Whoever this kidnapper was, he or she was a professional and this thought was strangely reassuring. Serial killers were rarely professionals; still, strange things happened and he couldn't rule out this possibility yet. He surveyed the empty playground again. Nothing out of ordinary. Well, now he had to wait for the science guys and hope that his people would be able to find at least one witness this time.

"Damn," he said aloud. "Right now I'd embrace a Dark Lord of the Sith himself if he happened to see something."

"Would you settle for a Jedi Knight?" a young male voice asked from behind his back. "And I can live without the embrace, too."

Tharas stilled an instinctive move of his hand toward his blaster and turned slowly. He was vaguely surprised when the first words out of his mouth were not the ones he'd have expected from himself in this situation.

"_You_ are a Jedi Knight?"

Well, he supposed it was understandable. The young man standing before him looked like an average Uni student. Early twenties, an intelligent, pleasant face, not conventionally handsome, but not plain either; brown hair, which were cut neatly, but not fashionably, hazel-grey eyes. His clothes were equally unremarkable: black pants, a beige shirt and a grey jacket. The kid was also looking a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny, shifting from one foot to the other. But he had to give it to the boy – he quickly got a hold on himself, straightening up and looking him right in the eyes.

"My name is Miko Reglia," the youngster said. "And as for your question…" he made a small gesture and the stun-cuffs that were hanging on Tharas' belt flew into his hand, "would that be a convincing identification for you?"

"For now," the investigator grumbled. "Give it back."

Miko handled the cuffs back immediately. "I heard you are looking for a witness?"

"You bet we are. What did you see?"

"Ah, well, there's the problem," the boy mumbled, "I didn't _see_ anything." He cringed a little under Tharas' irate glare and hastily added, "but I _felt_ quite a lot."

"Well," the policeman said sarcastically, "when someone doesn't have a piece of flimsy he has to write on durasteel. What exactly did you feel?"

"I was sitting on the bench here," he indicated one of the benches at the edge of a park, "when I felt an intense spike of fear from someone. I focused on it and felt a second presence nearby. It was very distinctive… a bad smelling, rotten feeling. I'm sure it was a male. I suspected that this person had to be the cause of the fear, so I decided to move in this direction, but just as I began to move, the two presences began to move too, in the opposite direction. I could feel that the scared one was a child, and I'm sure enough it was a boy. He was terrified. When I was approximately there", Miko indicated the point on the far end of the playground, "both presences began to move away much more quickly so I think they got into a speeder. I'm not sure if there was a driver. I didn't have a speeder and there wasn't any I could have borrowed in the vicinity, so I didn't try to catch up with them and soon they got out of my range. There was a woman, she noticed that something wasn't right in almost the same time I did and called the police. I just stayed here and waited for you. That's all."

"Well, it's better than nothing, but not enough," Tharas sighed. "Think again. Can you remember anything else?"

"I told you all," the young man said quietly. "I can't add anything. But I can help you find them."

"How?"

"If I will be close enough I can feel them. I can recognize both presences easily. The problem is, I'm not very powerful. My range in this condition is, ah, about two kilometers or so and it's not sufficient in this case."

"Well, it's better than nothing. If we can find a lead to their location…"

"Yes, but I'm thinking of something else…" Tharas looked at the boy intently. He was hesitating visibly, as if trying to choose the lesser of two evils.

"Well?" the policeman prompted.

"I'm not alone here. My Master is somewhere around, we were taking a vacation, actually. He said he would be staying out of town, but close enough. I can call him. He is powerful, and he is very good with this kind of things."

"So what's the problem than? Call him!"

"Well, there are at least two problems. The first is purely technical and I think we will solve it somehow, but the second… I'm not sure you will be able to work with him. He can be a little… intense."

Tharas laughed bitterly. "Right now I'm ready to work with the late Lord Vader himself to find these boys. And those aren't the empty words – I met the man. Call your master, Reglia."

Miko took out his comlink, then made a double-take. "Boys?"

"This is the forth kidnapping in two weeks. No bodies found yet, so I have at least a small hope they are still alive. Call your master, kid. Right now you and he are all we have."

Tharas thought he was ready for anything, but the very first word the Jedi boy said into his comlink made his eyebrows shoot right under his hairline.

"Kyp? Master, I'm so sorry to bother you, but I think I need you here right now. Child kidnapping, forth in two weeks, possible serial murder." He winced slightly at something his friend said, then listened for a moment. "What is the name of this place?" he asked the policeman and relayed the information. "Ten minutes? Great. Yes, I was here." He quickly repeated the same story he told Tharas and shut the comlink off. "He will be here soon. He was in town, luckily."

"Kyp?" Tharas asked incredulously. "You mean, Kyp Durron? _He_ is your master?"

"Yes. You have a problem with that?"

For the first time since the beginning of their talk, Tharas detected some hint of irritation in the youngster's voice. The boy was obviously very protective of his teacher. Good.

"No, no problem at all. I'm glad I'll be able to say my thanks in person."

"Thanks for what?"

"Mostly for Carida. And for some other things."

Miko eyed him warily. "I wouldn't do that in your place. It's a painful subject for him."

"Still? It's been what, thirteen years?"

"Something like that."

The policeman shook his head sadly. "They sold him out and _he_ is the one who is feeling badly about it? It's a shame. But don't worry, I'll take your advice into consideration."

"Sold him out? What do you mean by that?"

"I meant just what I said. If you don't know what I'm talking about, ask him. I think he was smart enough to figure it out at some point."

_Oh, joy, another riddle_, Miko thought. _The farther you go into the forest, the fatter are the birds. _

The policeman turned to his lieutenant, who was standing five meters from them, eyeing the interaction between his superior and the Jedi suspiciously. "Anything new?"

The man shook his head. They didn't say anything else; the silence would have been deafening if not for the chattering from the lieutenant's comm and the noise from a small crowd that gathered outside of the police interdiction field. A tension in the air was growing more and more palpable with each passing minute.

The big Arrow-23 speeder shot out from one of the nearest streets with a speed that was just short of absolutely prohibited and came to a halt right before the interdiction field entrance and the gapers around it. The canopy began to open up and Miko breathed a sigh of relief and made a move toward it, but stopped short when he saw the investigator's face. If he thought the once-over the police officer gave him was intense, he was forced to re-evaluate his definition of intensity right now. It seemed like in this moment in time, nothing and nobody existed for the man but Kyp Durron, who had just jumped out and turned to say something to an attractive light-haired woman on the passenger seat.

Ivar Tharas felt the years fall away from him with each step the black-haired man in the customary attire of a male from one of the Old Clans of Garos IV took to them. _He has changed,_ thought he and almost laughed aloud at his own silliness. Of course he has changed, it had been more than thirteen years already. Last time he saw this face it was the face of a boy, thin, grayish-pale and tormented. Now it was the face of a man, although boyishness still lurked around the line of his jaw and in the contours of the bow-shaped lips. The cheekbones and chin were sharper, more defined; the last vestiges of the childish roundness in his cheeks were gone. The straight nose was still a bit too prominent for his face, although it was less noticeable now, but the almond-shaped dark eyes under the straight ebony brows weren't lost in anguish anymore. The Jedi's pale skin was glowing with a slight translucent tan that naturally pale people sometimes acquired. The black hair was longer and less curly than he remembered and was shot with a few silver streaks. _Well_, Ivar thought, _he's entitled_. But despite all these changes in Kyp Durron's face, the traits that drew Tharas to this boy the first time he saw him in that horrid Council chamber – his stubbornness, determination and immovable inner dignity – were still there. It was good to see. This boy… no, this man was such a big influence in his life, the starting point of such a fateful decision that Ivar Tharas, former graduate of Caridian Academy, former Imperial military investigator, former Rebel, former Guard of the New Republic Council and current police officer, happy husband and father, couldn't wish him anything but good. It was nice to meet him face-to-face after all, even if the circumstances of this meeting definitely could have been less gruesome.

The policeman inhaled sharply and let his memories go. The present was much more important at that moment. He made two steps toward the man who was heading to them – Tharas couldn't help but notice that nobody, including his own people who were guarding the entrance, made even a feeble attempt to stop him – and extended his hand.

"Ivar Tharas, lead investigator, Ariana City Police Department, Second Division," he said as an introduction.

The Jedi tilted his head slightly, lifting up one black eyebrow in a habitual sardonic gesture, giving him an once-over look not very dissimilar to Tharas' own and, apparently satisfied, shook his hand.

"Kyp Durron, Jedi Master, freelance, all-around saving the Universe department," he answered with a slight self-mocking smile. "Can you tell me a little more about the situation, sir?"

"Ivar. The name is Ivar."

The Jedi smiled. "Well, Ivar, I'm Kyp then. So?"

"The first kidnapping occurred two weeks ago, in a street market. The mother let her son go buy some candies while she was shopping. He didn't return. No witnesses. The second one occurred at Karia Lake, when the group of children and teenagers went to the beach for a day. At first nobody noticed that the boy wasn't around and they began to worry only when he didn't return in a couple of hours. By that time we weren't able to locate any witnesses, even if there were some. The third and the forth, this one, happened at the communal playgrounds and this time we were able to react quickly because of a woman who was playing nearby with her own child. She noticed that the boy vanished suddenly and called the police. As of this moment…" the policemen looked on his lieutenant. The man shook his head. "…no witnesses also. A very professional work."

"Bodies?"

"None yet. It probably means nothing, but let's presume they are still alive."

"Did the kidnappings occur at the same intervals?"

Ivar smiled. "Good question. No. Looks like the kidnapper is opportunistic."

"Is there something in common between all four?"

"Except the lack of witnesses? Only one thing. Look." Tharas took a small holocube out of his pocket and turned it on. It displayed the holos of four young boys. They were slightly different in age, but despite their dissimilar features and hair and eye color, all four were undeniably good-looking.

"In your place," Kyp said through clenched teeth, "I'd keep a very close look on the spaceport. Better yet, ban all outcoming flights for the time being."

"We increased the security in the spaceport, but ban on all flights? Why?"

"You may not be aware of it, but in the last two years I made slave trading a very unhealthy line of work in the Outer Rim. I have a strong suspicion that some of them got a bright idea to take their operations from an interplanetary space to the planets. If it is the case, then a simple increase in security will not help. They know how to avoid it."

"It makes sense." Tharas took off his comlink and issued orders. "Well, let's hope this hole is covered. What else?"

Kyp sighed. "Now we'll try the approach that's not covered in any criminology handbooks. Miko?"

"Yes?"

"Can you show me what you felt?"

His apprentice sighed. "I can try, but you know my limitations probably better than I do." It was true; unfortunately, Miko was never the one for projecting, and feelings and sensations were even harder to project than images. "Kyp, we can't waste our time on this," he said insistently. "You know what to do, don't you?"

"Miko," Kyp answered with uncharacteristic hesitance, "maybe we should try the other way first."

"And what will happen while we are trying? We couldn't do it before even in meditation!" The young Jedi took a deep breath and said quietly, gently: "You hate this, I know. But right now there is no other choice. And you have my consent. Do it, please."

"What you guys are talking about?" Tharas asked.

"We are talking about something very dangerous," Kyp answered. "Please, be quiet. I need an absolute concentration, otherwise this can end very badly. And turn off your comlink." The police officer complied and Kyp took Miko's head in his hands. "Relax and open up," he said quietly.

It had been a while since he had to do something like this and he never had to perform a memory transfer with someone he cared about so much. He cleared his head, forcefully repressing his fear and his insecurity. There will be some time later to get emotional. Now he had a work and he had to perform it without a fault. Apparently, Miko felt the same way. He opened up to the probe readily, almost eagerly, without any reserve, any fear. All he could feel from his apprentice in that moment was his determination and absolute faith in his teacher. Kyp didn't have to go deep; Miko all but presented the memory for him on a silver plate. When he was sure he got it all, he withdrew gently, carefully, making sure he didn't touch anything else even accidentally.

"I always knew I picked you for a reason," he said when Miko opened his eyes. "I'm so proud of you, Jedi Knight Reglia."

Miko smiled. "The feeling is mutual, Master. Did you get everything?"

"Yes." Kyp made a face. "You weren't joking about the foul taste. Give me a minute to catch my breath." He performed a couple of breathing exercises and relaxed. Then he began to search, going in a spiral pattern beginning from the outsides of Ariana, gradually making it closer and closer. _Here! _The now familiar repulsive presence stopped him just as surely as the nail sticking out of the pavement would stop a runner, only instead of jerking back he seized it eagerly and made sure it would not get out of his mental grasp. He searched the area around the first presence. Yes, there was a child, apparently unconscious, but still alive. And they were moving.

The Jedi opened his eyes, meeting the worried stare of one Ivar Tharas. "I found them. They're on the move, about ten kilometers south-south-west from here. The boy is unconscious, but alive. I don't think there is anyone else with them, but to be sure I need to get closer."

"Let's move then." Tharas made a couple of steps to the exit, but Kyp caught his hand.

"Wait a minute. What do you want to do?"

"Track them, what else? He's probably checking for a tail now; sooner or later he'll have to go to his lair."

The Jedi smiled with a full, toothy, predatory smile. "I like the way you think, Ivar. When he stops, I need to be as close as possible. Then I'll be able to immobilize him without risking the child or anyone else."

The policeman smiled back in a perfect accord. "I'm a professional, Kyp. Just don't forget to tell me what you think we need to do beforehand. Deal?"

"Deal. And don't take too many people with us. Miko and I can handle anything that needs a dozen of average solders and we're way less noticeable."

"Understood. And Kyp… I'd prefer to take your speeder. Like you said, way less noticeable."

"What about my passengers?"

"One of my guys can take them anywhere they want in one of our speeders."

The Jedi sighed. "Give me a minute." He turned and went to his vehicle. While the policeman was giving orders and selecting who would go with them, Miko observed an apparently heated discussion that occurred between his Master and the woman in the passenger seat with great interest. Judging by her body language, she wasn't happy with the arrangement.

"Miko?" Ivar called, "We're ready, come on. By the way, do you need something? Blaster, vibroblade?"

"No, thanks." Miko opened his jacket, letting the policeman see the blaster stashed in one inner pocket and his lightsaber in the other.

The older man gave a short laugh. "It's nice to deal with people who like to be prepared," he said and went to Kyp's speeder.

They got close just in time to hear the woman say: "Kyp, if you wreck this speeder with all our purchases, I'll kill you myself. I'm not ready to repeat this trip in the near future."

He gave her a peck on the cheek and a mocking salute. "I'll be careful, I promise." With that he opened the rear door and let out the other passengers – a tall, dark-haired teenager and, to Miko's surprise, Gella. The girl immediately tugged on his hand.

"Miko, Miko, look!" she chanted, pointing at the flashy toy corona on her dark hair, "I have a diadem! I'm a princess now!" He never saw her that animated before.

"Hey, princess!" Kyp said hastily, "You'll have to pester him some other time. Go have dinner with Aren and Rik. I promise I'll soon return with your favorite human toy."

The teenager laughed and scooped the girl into his hands. "Good luck, Kyp. And, mom, if he wrecks this speeder, the line forms behind me."

The woman made a face. Tharas smiled. "I promise I'll take care of your property, ma'am."

"That's good to hear," she answered, smirking. "For I know my baby brother a little too well to believe in _his_ promises in this respect."

And Miko Reglia had the privilege to see something he was sure no one had ever seen: Kyp Durron blushed. Furiously. It was such an exciting sight that the woman's words didn't even registered first. Then a credit dropped.

"Aren!" Kyp exclaimed indignantly.

_Baby brother?_ Miko thought frantically. _She is his **sister**!_ This trip was getting more and more interesting, indeed.

The woman – Aren – laughed and then became serious. "Be careful."

Kyp rolled his eyes. "Yes, your overprotectiveness. I'm a big boy now, you know? Shaving and all that."

She snorted disbelievingly, summoned the teen and Gella with a nod and took off to the police speeder.

"Well, gentlemen," the Jedi Master drawled. "Shall we?" His cheeks were still red. He caught Miko's amused look and said warningly: "Not a word, Miko. Not a vapin' word!"

**

* * *

Ariana, about 20 minutes later.

* * *

**

"Oh, in the name of all diseased nerfs and their herders!"

Tharas perked at this exclamation. "What?"

"Just what you were afraid of," Kyp answered from the driver's seat. "They are moving toward Wasted City."

"Are you surprised?"

"Force no. It had to be expected. I think I used up all my annual good luck quota on our latest raid." He glanced at the police officer. "Is there any way we can stop him even for a minute without alerting him?"

"By what, putting a naked Twi'lek dancer in his way? He is a professional, Kyp."

"I know, I know. Just checking."

"Umm, guys," Miko interrupted from the second row seat. "What is this Wasted City?"

"A former industrial district. Warehouses, factories, droid garbage and other kinds of entertainment," Ivar answered.

"A dream come true," the young Jedi sighed.

"Exactly," Kyp said tersely. "Any ideas?"

Miko shrugged. "Play it by ear? You are good in it."

His Master laughed suddenly. "Kid, you have no idea!"

"We may not be able to track him in the WC inconspicuously," said the policeman grimly.

"We must. I know this area. Let's trail as long as we are able to, then I'll try to figure out where his lair could be and cut straight to it."

Tharas looked at Kyp with curiosity. "You know this area? Pretty specific knowledge, if you ask me."

The Jedi sighed. "Ivar, I'm not paranoid…"

"…there are just too many people around who'd like to get you."

"Something like that. It's been about four years, but I doubt there have been many changes."

Ivar nodded and asked: "How is the boy?"

"Still unconscious. I think he's drugged."

"Well, that could work to our advantage."

"Definitely. Oh, stang!"

"What!"

"No way I'll be able to keep up with him now. We'll need to make a detour."

"Can you sense where he's heading?"

"No, nothing yet. Sorry, Ivar, predicting is not my strongest side. And to read something off him I have to be closer." Kyp made a sharp right turn and cut the corner by driving through some building that appeared to be an abandoned depot.

"Rusty red," Miko said all of a sudden.

"What?"

Miko's voice was unnaturally calm and slow. "A rusty red building with a flat black roof. We're on the roof. A big air propeller…"

"Got it!" Kyp exclaimed.

For a moment everybody went silent – Kyp, Miko, Ivar, and the two policemen in the back of the speeder, who were silent anyway. Then the young Jedi interrupted the silence: "I zipped out here for a moment, didn't I?"

His Master spared a glance in his direction. "Yes. But you got it, kid, or at least I hope so. It's about two kilometers from here. A former droid storehouse. Only one entrance, so if we approach it from the other side we should be safe. The problem is, we'll have to do it on foot. There is only one driveway there."

"To the entrance, of course."

"Naturally."

"Well, it's not like we really need this vehicle for anything except getting there," shrugged Tharas.

"You're forgetting a small matter of getting out. Not to mention safety of Gella's new wardrobe."

"Oh. I see."

"Yep. You should. You promised, after all." Kyp stopped the speeder in a narrow, shadowy passageway. "Dead end. If we make the next kilometer quickly, we'll be able to be there before our quarry." He tied his hair in a ponytail with a leather thong, took off his waistcoat and began to unbutton his shirt hastily.

"What are you doing?"

"A white shirt and a black vest? I may just as soon paint a target on myself. Besides, Aren will kill me if I get a blaster hole in it." He took his lightsaber from the inner pocket and clipped it on his belt.

Ivar looked at him. "Do you need a blaster?"

"No. Miko has one. Do you have a grappling hook?" One of the silent policemen handed him one. It also went to the belt.

"You two stay here," Tharas said to his men.

They took off in a quick trot, but Ivar very quickly noticed that both Jedi were slowing down for his sake. "You two go ahead," he said to them. "Time is running out."

"How will you find us?"

The police officer pointed under his feet. Since the city management obviously didn't bother to clean this part of the city, there was a noticeable layer of dust and dirt on the pavement. Which, fortunately, was very good for holding footprints.

"Gotcha," Kyp said and took off, this time running as quickly as possible, Miko on his heels. After less than five minutes of running through different, but equally dim, abandoned and unpleasant places, they arrived at the backside of the building. They discovered then that the entrance was inaccessible from the ground due to the abundance of trash littering the earth around the storehouse.

"The roof?" Miko asked.

"Yeah. But first…" Kyp closed his eyes and focused. "Yes, there they are. Three children and three adults. Thank the Force. And our Mr. Stinky is about three minutes from here, tops. We should hurry." He took the grappling hook from his belt and threw it up. Fortunately, the building was less than ten meters high. In seconds they were on the roof.

The front side of the former storehouse was in a much more orderly state. Too orderly. The big yard was empty and surrounded by a high wall. No debris. No trees. Nothing that could have served as cover.

"Clever bastards," Miko whispered. "Only one entrance and they have it covered."

"Yes. Of course, we can always use the air conditioning system, but I don't fancy crawling through all those ducts."

"And stun blasts at this distance are ineffective."

"No, no stun blasts yet. We need him talking." Kyp crept to the edge of the roof and stuck his head out. "Miko. Look. There is our chance."

The entrance of the building was shielded by a sizeable flat roof. "I bet that if we lay on it close to the wall we'll be invisible from the ground level. Come on, quickly!" He jumped first, soundlessly, cushioning his landing with the Force. Miko was right behind him.

They plastered themselves to the dirty, tar-smeared roof. The splashes of black, smelly tar began to stick to all available surfaces immediately. Miko cursed inwardly, regretting not following his Master's example. This was his only decent civilian jacket. But these worries were immediately forgotten as soon as he heard the sound of the approaching speeder. Judging by the noise, the vehicle made a half-circle around the yard and parked just under the entrance roof.

The young Jedi raised his head and risked a quick glance. Kyp was already near the edge and listening intently to what was happening below. He gestured to Miko to move to the other side and squatted in a ready-to-jump position. To Miko's surprise, in his hand Kyp was holding a sizable knife, an old-fashioned one, not a vibroblade. It was obviously designed for throwing, but could be used just as well in a close combat. _Where did he hide it?_

_Now! _Kyp's voice shouted in his head and Miko hurled himself down without thinking, landing in a squatting position, blaster in hand. The stocky, brown-haired man who was just opening the side door of the speeder turned toward him quickly, his hand already going for his blaster… and completely missing the second enemy coming behind his back. As if in slow motion, Miko saw the man's hand pulling out his blaster from where it was tucked under the waistline of his pants and aiming in his direction. The Jedi was already preparing to roll to the side when his would-be attacker froze in the middle of the motion. The leaf-like blade appeared at his neck, nicking the skin and drawing a drop of blood.

"Just give me an excuse, would you?" Kyp hissed in the kidnapper's ear. Then he carefully tugged the blaster out of the man's hand and moved to stand in front of him, the knife still firmly in place.

The kidnapper's eyes widened. In a strangled whisper he said: "Durron. Pity I didn't finish you off that day on Kessel."

For the second time in this eventful day Miko Reglia saw something on the face of his Master he had never seen before. Only this time it wasn't amusing. White-hot, blind, boiling fury was written all over Kyp Durron's sharp features. The blood left his skin completely, giving a gray-blue tint to his lips and making the light tan look like badly applied make-up. The knife jerked, cutting deeply into the man's lower jaw. Miko opened his mouth to say something, anything, just to snap the older man from this state, but Kyp managed to keep himself in check – although it obviously cost him dearly. He was still horribly pale, but his face settled into a tightly controlled expressionless mask and the knife returned to its proper place – right under the man's ear.

"Pity you didn't make a spider's meal back then," he spat in a hoarse voice. "But that can be remedied."

"It's so nice to be memorable. Tell me, Durron, how are you with public beaches these days?"

The surge of anger from Kyp nearly made Miko faint. It was an old, strong emotion, put aside for years, but neither weakened nor forgotten. The young man felt like he was standing on a dam, looking at the storming torrent and knowing, feeling that at any moment this elemental force could and would come down on him and everybody else in the vicinity, burying them in a dark, cold grave. Still, the Jedi Master was holding himself back, although the tread was wearing extremely thin.

"Miko, check on the boy," he forced out through tightly clenched teeth.

"Alive. Vital signs a bit slow, but nothing alarming."

"Move him behind the speeder. Good. Now…" He moved the kidnapper's limbs into a more natural position and fished a comlink from the man's inner pocket. "You'll call your buddies and say you need help. I don't care what you're telling them as long as it's working."

The man smiled crookedly. "What, no threats?"

"Do I need to bother?"

The kidnapper gave him a tiny smile that packed an absolutely inappropriate amount of greasy viciousness. "No, not really. Punch the second button." When Kyp complied, he said into the comlink with a calm, relaxed voice: "Hey, you lazy bums, can somebody help me here? This brat is heavy and I have some groceries in the speeder."

There was a brief pause, and then the comlink came alive again. "One moment, boss. Nimos will help you."

Kyp forced "boss'" unmoving body into a more naturally looking pose near the opened door of the vehicle, hiding the bloodied part of his face out of sight from the building entrance and nodded to Miko. The young Jedi sighed with relief. This part was familiar. _See 'em, stun 'em, move to the others. Quite a habit to develop_, he thought briefly, plastering himself to the wall near the exit with his blaster in hand. He dropped the second kidnapper as soon as he was out of the door.

"What about this one?" he asked as soon as he dragged the body into the speeder.

"I don't like it, but I think you should stand guard here. I'll go inside alone."

The young Jedi had already opened his mouth to protest, when another voice cut into the conversation.

"No need. I'll do it."

Caught up in Kyp's emotional storm and their haste, they completely forgot about Ivar Tharas. Miko was rarely as glad to see somebody, as he was to see the police officer now.

"Put the stun cuffs on him and don't take your eyes off him even for a second. He's a dangerous bastard. Any slight move – shoot without hesitation."

"Understood. I gather there are more people inside than we expected?"

"Two more. And the boys."

"Gotcha. Go ahead. I'll keep this end covered."

They moved from the shadowed entrance into the moldy smelling insides of the storehouse. It was dark there, but not for their eyes. Fifty meters further and they were able to see their goal.

It was a big, poorly lit room, grim and dusty. There was some furniture there – namely some cots and chairs, an old holoprojector, a couple of boxes with clothes thrown haphazardly all over them – but the attention of both Jedi was arrested by other things.

At the distant end of the room, at least twenty meters from them stood something that resembled a big, crude cage. Two boys were sitting in it, cowering by the wall. Not five meters from them stood a small camp table. Two men were sitting at it, obviously playing some card game. As they watched, one of them won the hand, laughed and said something to his companion. It was obvious that Miko's blaster was not powerful enough to do any good at this distance. It was equally obvious that the distance between the men and the boys _was _more than enough to allow the thugs to shoot their defenseless victims in a blink of an eye, should they choose so. Their usual battle arrangement was useless here.

Kyp gestured to Miko, pointing to his lightsaber and indicating that his apprentice should go first and cover him, then produced a second knife from his left boot. _Throwing knives_, Miko thought. _Oh._ Now he knew what his Master intended to do. At his nod, he charged in the room, igniting his lightsaber on the very first step, feeling Kyp moving right behind.

He was barely inside when the kidnappers noticed him. The chairs went flying and both men turned to the charging Jedi with drawn blasters. Miko caught the first blaster shot on his blade easily. Although the enemy's weapon was more powerful than his own, the bolt was already weakened by distance. Miko felt Kyp dropping on one knee behind him and in the next second the first knife caught the shooter in the right shoulder, right under the clavicle, making him drop his weapon and sag to the floor.

The second man, though, proved to be smarter. He obviously understood that as long as he had the boys under his blaster he would be able to dictate the terms. Miko sensed his intention a mere fraction of a second before he saw him beginning to turn toward the cage. But this movement made him show his side to the attackers – and the second knife sank into his neck under his left ear almost at the same moment as the barrel of his gun came straight in line with the cage. The blaster hit the floor with a clang; Miko didn't need to get closer to see that the man was dead.

He hurried ahead, heading toward the first man, who was attempting to reach his blaster with his left hand, and kicked it far from his grasp. "Where is the third boy?" he asked, killing his blade.

"In another place," the man answered between pained breaths. "Stubborn brat. We had to separate him."

"Where?"

"Safe room. There," he pointed to the inconspicuous door on the other side of the area.

"Keys?"

"Boss has 'em."

"Go get him, Miko," Kyp said tightly from behind his back. "And stun this scum."

Miko was a little surprised to see the older man still in the same kneeling position on the floor. He looked like all the energy was drained from him – or as if he had devoted all of it to some task and couldn't spare even a bit. "Are you all right?" the young Jedi asked quietly.

"No. Go. I'll hold."

When the young Jedi returned with Ivar and 'the boss', he saw that Kyp had managed to drag himself up and was now searching the bodies. One of the boys in the cage now stood near the grates, apparently telling the Jedi where to find the keys. While they were crossing the room, Kyp found them and opened the cage. Both boys got out, casting fearful glances toward their former captor. They were obviously still afraid of him, despite the fact that he was in the stun cuffs.

The Jedi Master turned to the newcomers. "Keys and code. Pronto."

The man nodded to his shirt. "Left pocket. I didn't set up a code." When Kyp got the keys and turned to the door, he added in a snide tone: "I hope you'll like what you see!"

Kyp's steps faltered, but he didn't say anything. Miko traded worried looks with Tharas and decided that whatever was behind the closed door, he had to see it too. _Why is it taking him so long to open the door?_ When he got closer he saw why: Kyp's hands were shaking so badly that he had trouble sliding the key card through the slot. _Force!_ thought Miko, _What did this bastard do to him?_ To see his normally unflappable Master in such a state was as horrifying as watching a bad earthquake and just as world-shattering.

The door opened and they had to shield their eyes for a moment. The light was blinding, the heat in the small, bare room oppressive. The boy was lying on the floor, on his side, with the bare back turned to the door. At first Miko couldn't process what he was seeing. The soft skin on the child's back was criss-crossed with wide, angry red lines in an almost geometrically perfect, grate-like pattern. Realization hit him in the same moment as the boy moved and turned to the door, trying to sit upright. Wide-set hazel eyes looked at them from a small bruised face under a mop of soft dark brown wavy hair, tired and pained, but still defiant.

And the dam inside Kyp Durron that he had managed to keep erect since his first look at the face of the man with the foul presence fell down. For Miko it felt like a black hole suddenly yawned open right in front of him. A vortex of dark, powerful emotions – anger, fear, wrath, longing for revenge – was sucking him inside, threatening to drown his consciousness with its mighty surge. He struggled against it, reminding himself that it wasn't _his_ fear, _his_ anger, _his_ wrath.

The crackling sound snapped him back to reality. Kyp Durron's face was drawn in a horrid rigid mask, ashen and skull-like in its chiseled petrifaction, pupils dilated so much that his eyes seemed to become completely black. Blue lighting was crackling between his hands, dancing merrily, as if glad to be free at last. He smiled a tight-lipped, terrifying smile and stretched his right hand forward, lighting bolts winding around the corded muscles like a pack of faithful snakes.

And in the next moment Miko Reglia did what was probably the most heroic act in all his life. He shouted: "Kyp, no!" and threw himself between Kyp Durron and his target, spreading his arms in a non-threatening gesture. "Kyp, please! It's me, Miko! Don't do it, Master! Please! Not like that!"

But the blue snakes were already in motion and there was no stopping them. In the last possible second Kyp managed to change the angle of his strike a little. Lighting bolts struck the ground halfway between Miko and Kyp's intended target, melting the floor and leaving a burning smell of ozone and metallic smoke in the air. Ivar looked in horror at the smoldering hole, then at both Jedi.

He couldn't see Miko's face, just hear him. "Kyp, don't do this. It's over. Finished. They're safe. Please. Let the police deal with him."

The older Jedi's face didn't relax, but lost its stony expression a little. "Safety is an illusion. There is no death penalty on Garos IV," he said in an icy voice. "Ask Ivar, can he guarantee that this scum will never be able to get free again?"

"He is right, Miko," the policeman answered quietly. "I can't. Things happen sometimes. Even Kessel wasn't as tight as it was said to be, your master and Han Solo proved that."

"Still, it's not the way, Kyp, you know this!"

"Yes," Kyp whispered wearily. "I know."

The look of sheer horror on kidnapper's face changed to relief. He obviously just now understood what kind of a force he had managed to unleash on himself.

Kyp looked like he had aged by a hundred years in these few minutes. Not paying attention to anything and anybody, he moved toward the bodies of other two thugs on unsteady feet and pulled his knife out of the neck of the one who was already dead, wiping it with the man's own shirt. Then he heeded to the exit. Every step he took was increasingly steady and anger seemed to bleed out of him with each one. Miko could sense that his Master was drawing on the Force heavily, trying to reinforce and cleanse himself. By the time Kyp was almost at the door, the young man couldn't feel anything from him except steady calmness and strong determination.

And then, just when all of them thought he would cross the threshold and disappear, Kyp Durron turned around in a quick, blurring motion. His right hand shot forward and the kidnappers boss' face assumed a look of utter astonishment for the couple of seconds that it took for him to die, the handle of the throwing knife sticking out of the left side of his chest.

"Good choice, but he shouldn't have bothered, really," Ivar said, taking the stun-cuffs off the body. "I would have done it anyway." The police officer turned to the boys, who were looking at the tableau with similar mixed expressions of horror and relief. "You didn't see anything, got it?"

"Yes," the third boy answered firmly. He was, apparently, the leader of this small group of victims. "Didn't see a thing, did we?" He looked at his friends.

"Yes," the other two answered readily.

"I want to go home," the smallest of them, a blonde-haired child with unusual dark blue eyes, added. "I want to go to mom."

Miko looked at the door wildly. Kyp was nowhere to be seen.

"I have to go," he muttered under his breath and ran out.

The scene that greeted him outside stopped him cold for a moment. His Master was kneeling in the middle of the yard, halfway between the building and the gates. It looked like he had just collapsed half-step. His bare shoulders were shaking and he was making strange bowing-like movements. At first, the young Jedi couldn't comprehend what he was doing, but the unmistakable sound and smell clued him on pretty quickly.

Kyp Durron was retching his guts out.

Whatever questions and reservations he might have had were cast aside in a second. This was his friend, he needed help, and Miko's first instinct was to embrace, to give the comfort of a touch. But as soon as he touched Kyp's shoulders, he was mentally swept from his feet – again. It took him some time, though, to recognize what he was feeling and seeing for what it was: not a mere emotional surge, but a vision.

_Pain. _

_Terrible, scorching, searing pain. Hands tied to the post, body sagged on the ropes, tearing his wrists apart. Heavy, burning blows raining on his back, giving him just enough time to feel the full impact from one blow to the other. Blurrily he could see other people gathered around: the guards, who were talking and laughing, enjoying the show, and the prisoners, lined up along the walls in their gray clothes. Some of them wore terrified expressions on their faces; some were crying, some closed their eyes. Briefly he saw a rugged old woman, eyes full with tears and a big dark-haired man, who was biting his lip, not even noticing the blood running down his chin._

_He was drowning in pain, no longer understanding where he was or even who he was. His personality was shut down, silenced, his mind blank. Only one thing remained, the core of his being, only one thing that didn't belong to this all-encompassing pain – a resolve that went beyond stubbornness, beyond obstinacy. **Don't cry! They should not hear you crying!**_

_He dimly heard someone shouting a command and then the blows ended. But it wasn't over. The crude hands untied him from the post and dragged him off without mercy. He was thrown in a small room that was hot to the point of suffocation and lit up too brightly for his eyes. The pain didn't end either, it just changed. Instead of scorching blows down his back, it engulfed his whole body now, eating all his nerve endings at once, pouring acid down his veins, melting his brain._

_Light._

_Heat._

_Pain._

_Fever._

_And through all this – a face of his tormentor, laughing at him with cruel delight through a transparisteel window in the door._

_The same face he saw just minutes ago in a dimly lit storehouse, only younger._

He raised his hands to cover his face, to shield himself from this filthy stare and looked at them in horror. They weren't his hands. Too small, too pale, too thin, the rope wrapped around his wrists seemed to be absurdly thick in comparison.  
They were the hands of a child. 

Miko came to his senses with a crushing speed. For a minute he was sure he would be sick just as Kyp was, if not worse, but the feeling of a shaking body under his hands demanded his attention. The heaves were dry now; Kyp had nothing left in his stomach, but still they refused to stop. Miko reached out with the Force and suppressed the spasms, then gently tugged Kyp upright, helping him stand on his feet again and directing him away from the grisly spot. He took him to the wall that surrounded the yard and helped the older man to sit in a shadow.

"Sit here and for Force' sake, don't move! Not a finger, do you hear me? I'll bring water."

No reaction.

Miko ran to the entrance, almost colliding with Ivar at the door. "Do you know where the water is in this hellhole?" he asked the boys who were grouping behind the policeman's back. Their blank stares told the tale. "Nevermind, I'll find it."

Ivar caught him by the hand. "What's up with him?"

"Nervous breakdown, as far as I can tell. A bad one."

"Oh flack. I called my people and medics. They'll be here any moment."

As if to prove his words, Kyp's big speeder rushed through the gates, two medical vehicles and a smaller police speeder in tow. Suddenly there were a lot of people around, or at least it seemed so to Miko. The boys were ushered into the ambulances; the police officers took care of the bodies and the still alive kidnappers. Miko just tried not to get under their feet. One of the medics, though, noticed them and squatted beside Miko to check Kyp over.

"He seems to be more or less normal physically. What happened to him?"

"Just a shock, doctor. Do you have some water?"

"That I have. Wait for a moment."

Indeed, he returned in a couple of minutes, bringing water and an injection device. Miko took the bottle and eyed the instrument warily. "What is that?"

"Just a mild sedative, don't worry. It'll not even put him out, just ease him a little." The young doctor glanced at the lightsaber on Miko's belt, then on Kyp's. "Unless there are some particular restrictions for your people about it?"

"No, no restrictions. We're just… not used to it, I guess." He shrugged. "Go ahead, doctor."

The medic gave Kyp a shot, checked his vitals again and said: "It would probably be better if we take him to the hospital…"

"No!" the young man nearly shouted. The doctor looked at him, startled. "No," Miko repeated more calmly. "He had had a very bad experience with medical facilities. If it's not life-threatening…"

The man shook his head, shrugged and got up. "Very well, take care of him then." Miko nodded, took the sizable bottle of water and began to wash Kyp's face and shoulders. The Jedi Master was still as good as dead, so after he finished with his face he braced Kyp's head on his shoulder and began to wash his back, which was covered in a sticky layer of dried sweat. Suddenly his fingertips sensed some irregularities on a smooth, elastic skin under his fingers. He looked closer. All over his Master's back, the pale skin was adorned with thin, old, faded, barely visible scar lines – in the same criss-crossed pattern as he saw just half an hour ago on the back of the boy they had saved.

The pieces fell in their places with almost audible snaps. This vision he picked up from Kyp that was not a vision, but a memory, the scars, the kidnapper's remark about public beaches, Kyp's slip into an uncontrollable rage when he saw the boy… even Kyp's habitual reluctance to participate in any daytime group exercises in anything less than a tank top, despite the heat of Yavin IV jungles. How long ago it was? The hands in his vision were a child's hands, not even a teenager's. How old Kyp Durron was then? No more than thirteen, certainly. So seventeen years, at the very least. Seventeen years and how many tortured children?

Now he understood. He understood why Ivar was willing to do the killing if Kyp hadn't done it. He understood why they both felt obligated to kill. Not for revenge, no. Just precaution, if delayed. He shook his Master by shoulders. "Kyp, do you hear me? Don't you dare to tear yourself apart over that! Don't you kriffin' dare! He needed killing years ago! If I only knew… why do you always have to do all the hard work yourself?"

Kyp didn't move, didn't speak, but suddenly Miko heard his tired voice in his head, like a word carried by wind: "Thanks…" After a couple of minutes Kyp's breathing pattern evened and the young man realized, to his own surprise, that he had fallen asleep. Miko was afraid to move, to wake him up, so he stayed in the same position, despite the numbness that began to spread up his legs.

"Is he unconscious?" the now-familiar voice asked from above his head.

"No. Just sleeping. The doctor gave him a sedative, I guess it helped."

"I hope so." Ivar sighed. "This scum whipped the boy with a leather belt, because he didn't want 'to damage the merchandise', as he so eloquently put it. He wasn't that squeamish with Kyp. Electric whip on a twelve-year-old. It's a wonder he's still sane, really."

"How did you know?"

"He was pretty talkative out here, while you were inside. Tried to provoke me."

"Into what?"

Ivar shrugged wearily. "Whatever. An angry enemy is an easy enemy. He was a smart bastard, clever and professional. I shudder to think about the trail of bodies and tortured children he must have left behind." He glanced toward the sun. "We need to get Kyp out of here. My guys are fending the reporters off for now, but we can't keep this on indefinitely."

"Just drive his speeder here. I'll get him inside."

"OK. And, Miko… thank you."

The young man shrugged. "I was just doing my job."

"Not for the boys. For Kyp. Nice to know there is someone close to him who cares."

"You are speaking as if… Did you know him before, Ivar? He didn't seem to recognize you."

A small, sad smile tugged at the older man's lips. "Yes and no. Let's get him out of here and I will tell you about it."

**

* * *

**

_**Ariana, 1 hour later.**_

**

* * *

**

"I thought I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for the Caridian Academy. I wasn't fond of the Empire even then, but I wanted to be an investigator; it had been my dream since childhood. And I didn't have the money for a civilian university. My family was barely above outright poverty. So I enrolled in the Academy, thinking that I would get whatever professional knowledge they were able to give and just skip all the ideological crap. Needless to say, it didn't play out quite like that. But by the time I realized what I had gotten myself into there was no way out."

They were sitting in the speeder in the quiet parking lot near one of Ariana's numerous parks. Kyp was still sleeping, and they decided to wait until he awoke – or at least slept off enough of his shock for them to wake him. Meanwhile, the police officer began to tell Miko the promised story.

"You can't imagine what the training at the Academy was like. I think the pilots were the only ones who had it easy. They still got all the ideology, but they didn't have to participate in more… practical activities. Like hunting for the natives or whoever was brought in to play the moving targets, as the troopers did. Or practicing the fine art of torture on living subjects." Ivar caught Miko's look. "Yes, I had to do it. Repulsed? You are right. But the only one alternative was to refuse and be killed eventually or brainwashed. I would do it still, probably, if there were even a slight chance that it would help the victim. But the only thing the poor being would have gained in that would have been another torturer. Most probably, someone like this scum Kyp killed today. The investigation faculty was full of sadists. Even the ones who weren't so inclined at first began to like it after some time. Power is a very heady wine, Miko. I honestly don't know how did I manage to resist the pull. Sheer obstinacy, most likely. But I was the only one in our group. Others… well, I don't relish the idea of meeting any of my classmates without a blaster in hand. 'Defenders', they called us. What a dirty joke.

"I deserted at the first chance. Joined the Alliance, became first a pilot – not X-wing, mind you, I never was good enough for that, just a freighter – then transferred to ground forces somewhere between Hoth and Endor. I knew they needed people of my profession, and believe me, all this sadistic stuff aside, they _did_ teach us well. But I was so fed up, so disappointed, that I wanted nothing of it anymore. For the time being, I was happy. It was a completely new life, full of honesty and fighting for the right thing." The policeman smiled sadly. "I guess I was still full of idealism then. But a couple of years after Endor things began to move downhill for me. I was beginning to come down from my happy enthusiastic high and think clearly and, let me tell you, clear thinking isn't all it's cracked to be. Hurts like an electric whip sometimes. I began to notice things I didn't pay attention to before: intrigues, backstreet talk. I shouldn't have been surprised, come to think about it, but I was. I honestly thought it would be different. But I was still holding up. I chose this side and this life and I just couldn't bring myself to abandon it.

"After the taking of Coruscant I was appointed a Guard to the Council. I was nicely decorated by then, with a spotless record. Needless to say, it didn't improve my attitude toward the New Republic government. The things they were talking about… you know, sometimes I think they forgot that we were sentient too, that we could hear, we could think.

"I know I told you to ask Kyp about this, but," Ivar cast a brief look at the Jedi Master's unmoving form on the backseat, "taking all that happened today into account, I don't think it'd be appropriate. You were surprised to hear that they sold him out, weren't you? But that's exactly what happened.

"There had been talks about the peace with the Empire for quite some time by then. Emissaries were sent, unofficially, of course, overtures given. The envoys from the Imperial worlds were parading back and forth like they owned the place. Not everybody was pleased by that, since the Empire was still strong. They still had Carida and other places and who knows what else hidden away. At this stage, peace would do more good to them than to NR, since they had all their remaining facilities in working order. We had to rebuild ours from scratch in most cases. But some beings in the Council wanted peace at any price. Honestly, I don't know what got into Dodonna and Reekan at the time; they were good, brave solders after all. I think the overall mood infected them. Ackbar and Mon Mothma were holding back, Organa Solo was a little preoccupied and the only one who was openly against the idea was Bel Iblis. Even the news about Admiral Daala didn't shake things; they just assumed that we needed a peace treaty even more and redoubled their efforts.

"And in the middle of all that pandemonium Kyp Durron blew up Carida. To say I was glad to hear it was to say nothing. I knew the Academy firsthand, after all. It was long overdue. By the way, do you know what else he blew up?"

"No. There was something else? I only heard about Carida."

"That's the beauty of mass media. Whatever they tell people is considered a holy truth by most. Very few are willing to go deeper. Just for the record: he ambushed Daala's fleet mere minutes before the strike on Coruscant the Admiral had planned. She was actually going to crash one of her Star Destroyers into the planet and finish the job with the others. You can count the damage cost and the number of lives it would have taken. He also destroyed a shipyard that contributed a sizeable chunk to the Imperial fleet – and gave them time to evacuate everybody. But you need to dig pretty deep to find this information."

"Sithspit. I wonder why he never told me about that?"

"Well, you should know your Master by now. Take a guess."

Miko sighed. "Actually, I don't have to. He told me just two days ago that he doesn't need excuses."

"Pride isn't always a bad thing, you know? But in his case I'm really not sure…" The policeman sighed. "Anyway, it's not the point. Where was I? Oh, yes. Carida. You really should have seen what was happening in the Senate and the Council then. They were fussing like frightened mynocks. 'Oh, what will the Empire think now?'" he whimpered in a voice of a ball debutante obsessed with a current lady-of-fashion's opinion about her attire.

Miko couldn't help himself; he snickered despite the gravity of the subject.

Tharas gave him a brief smile and continued. "Well, smart guys that they were, they couldn't find a better solution than to sell him out. They raised a big stink about how awful his actions were and preferred to forget that if not for his actions, they wouldn't have been alive, pure and simple. Surely, Daala didn't plan to run her Star Destroyer into the Manarai Mountains. Bel Iblis was the only one who had the guts to say that, hey, we are still up to our arses in the war and Durron didn't destroy anything but legitimate targets. Not that it mattered, of course, since the high politics was already in a full gear.

"It would have played out just nicely if not for a couple of small and insignificant facts. First one was that Han Solo actually managed to bring him back, and of his own free will, no less. They would have been happy to see him dead, but alas, he was alive, surrendered voluntary and Solo sure as all nine Corellian hells would have raised a big stink of his own if they just killed Kyp quietly. The second one was that by that time it became widely known that the Empire had no intentions of striking a piece bargain and was only trying to gain time, leaving some pretty unfriendly little surprises along the way, like poisoning Mothma, kidnapping Solo's youngest son and some such. Mon Mothma's poisoning was the only one that got to the public, in a somewhat abbreviated version, due to some Mon Calamarian's big mouth. They didn't manage to shut him up in time. But most of the Senate and all the Council knew and it cooled some hot heads.

"So politics went its merry way, but every silver lining has its cloud. They didn't know what to do about Kyp. I think the realization that he was under responsibility age – and this is something everybody is willing to forget also – was confusing as well. They marinated him in the Imperial Palace jail for some time – and I don't want to imagine what it was like for him. Dreadful place, and after Kessel… did I say I'm amazed he's still sane?"

"Yeah, I think you mentioned something along those lines," Miko smiled bleakly.

"Well, anyway, after all this noise they raised you would think they would be happy to hold a public trial for such a horrid criminal. Bel Iblis quite maliciously suggested so. But of course, a public trial would be just as uncomfortable for them as your boots to a rancor. The public, o horror, could have heard the _whole _story and some might have even thought something different from what they had been told. So, our esteemed rulers decided to play this farce of a trial instead. I'm surprised that nobody noticed how many juridical procedures they stampeded in order to do it. I think it would be more accurate to say that they completely disregarded every one of them.

"And that's when I first saw Kyp Durron, while standing guard at the doors to the Council chamber. Mind you, I didn't know anything about him before that day. Just his name. There was no information on him, no holos, nothing. I didn't even know how old he was. When I saw him, it was a shock. Tormented doesn't even begin to cover it. He was standing before this mighty assembly that firmly planted their butts on a high podium, a teenage boy, thin, pale, with pained eyes that seemed to take up half of his face, in cuffs and with guards easily twice his size surrounding him. And you know what? He made them all look like a twice-digested bantha poodoo. They were throwing accusations, threatening him with an execution, expecting him to play the role of a repentant criminal, and he completely refused to fit in their game. He gave them no loopholes – no pleas, no excuses, no asking for mercy, nothing that would allow them to pretend they were responding to his plea for a pardon. Beautiful, stubborn child. They didn't know what to do at the face of this unshattering dignity. And what was absolutely priceless, Kyp didn't even understand what he was doing, it was clear. He just acted accordingly to his nature. Even Solo didn't get it; he tried to speak in his defense, like he needed some. But then, Solo was never the one for subtlety.

"You know, Miko, I can safely say that it was the first, and up to this day, the last time when I was truly and profoundly humbled. I was so relieved when they, at a loss for how to conclude this spectacle that didn't play out to their expectations, sent him to Skywalker. I knew Luke, met him a couple of times during the war, and I knew he would never harm the boy, despite whatever collisions they might have had. Kyp's name had been stomped in the mud, but at least he got his life. If the Empire was smarter and managed to keep up the game longer, they could very well have put him to death just to please these bloodsuckers."

They sat in silence for some time, then Miko said shakily: "You know, this is one of the very few times when I really, badly need a drink."

Ivar laughed and got a little flask out of his breast pocket. "No ice, kid, but it's a good stuff. You're not the first one who needs this medication from doctor Tharas. I won't even ask if you're legal."

"What is the legal age here?"

"Twenty one standard years."

"Then your conscience is clear. I'm legal." _Barely_, he amended silently. He took a swallow. "Ivar, you sure have expensive tastes. Don't expect me to share."

The policeman made a generous gesture. "Feel free. I have plenty left at home. Feeling any better?"

"Much, thank you. You know, you sure can shatter loadstones. I had never even thought about some of these things, and, considering, I should have to. It definitely explains a lot."

"Yeah, well, we smart people are in a minority. Always will be, I'm afraid, judging by the current trend. I mean, this story as they released it has more black holes than the Maw Cluster, and still most of the galaxy eats it with gusto. If someone tried to say any of what I told you today openly, I sure didn't hear about it. Anyway, I'm not finished yet."

"What, there's _more_?"

"Oh, you mean about all this mess with Kyp? No. I wanted to talk to him, just to see what he was like in a more friendly environment, but Solo whisked him to Yavin IV the very same day, which was actually a mightily smart thing to do. And, besides, what could have I said to him? He had quite enough on his plate without strange people bothering him. So the next day I signed my resignation from the NR service. Never regretted that. Hear my words, Miko: this government will not stay for long. The intention was good, but intentions usually are. The problem is, it had been spoiled somewhere along the way. I don't know where or how and, frankly, I don't care. I'm done with politics."

Miko snorted. "Kyp says that he would like to get a credit for each time Han Solo said that exact phrase."

"Well, Solo kinda got politics in his marriage contract. Poor man. Well, I did a lot of thinking after that. I actually was at loss about what to do with my life, but then I thought, what the flack, why am I so shy to get into investigations again? Yes, I was sick of the horrors I had to endure and cause on Carida, but who said it should be like that? If someone can still be a Jedi after being a Sith, why can't I? The profession is different, sure, but inside it's all the same. Everything has its light and dark side. So I began to travel, worked on a couple of planets for some time, to get back into things, then settled here eventually. It's a beautiful planet; I didn't have to make an effort to love it. Got married to a nice Seighne woman. They are something else, let me tell you; these thousands years of isolation produced a unique breed. My daughter is just two years old. A bit late, I know, but I'm determined to see her marry some nice young man and produce a couple of grandchildren for me. I love my work. I love my life. And I would have never had it if not for Kyp Durron. Funny how things go around in circles." Ivar looked at Miko and smiled with irony. "And I hope you got something from this story, or why else did I waste my yearly talkativeness quota on you?"

"Quite a lot, thanks. Not to mention a good whiskey. What time is it now?"

The police officer looked at his wrist chrono and whistled. "Almost nineteen hundred. I think we should better wake Kyp up, because I don't want to deliver him to his sister in an unconscious state. Given what I saw of her today, this lady will fry us alive and with a smile on her lips."

A quiet chuckle drifted to them from the back seat. "You've got her nailed, Ivar. She will."

"You are awake!" Miko exclaimed.

"Astonishing perceptiveness. We need to work on your split attention, Apprentice."

The young Jedi rolled his eyes. "Kyp, would you please snap out of the Master mode? You are not fooling anybody here." More gently, he asked: "How are you?"

"Still a bit muzzy. Or even more than a bit." He tried to sit and groaned quietly. "Stang. Head hurts."

"If you don't lay back and stop moving around I can promise that something else will be hurting too. What part of the word 'rest' you are unable to understand?"

Kyp sighed dramatically. "Bossed around by my own student. How the mighty falls."

Ivar turned around in the driver seat. "Kyp, if you don't want to talk, all you need to do is just say so. We're worried about you here, in case you didn't notice yet."

"Thanks," the Jedi Master answered tiredly. "I guess I'm just out of practice in the shock tolerance department. Right in this moment all I want is to pretend that none of this happened. At least for a while. I can't deal with this now."

"Heard and understood. So, shall we call your sister? I bet she's pretty anxious by now."

"My comlink is in my waistcoat." He waited until Miko fished it out from the small pile of clothes and pressed the buttons. "Aren. Yes. Yes. All of them, alive. Yes. You can thank Ivar for that. Gella's toys were guarded by the two burliest cops in all the Ariana Police Department. Where are you? In the apartment? We'll be there in about twenty minutes. How are Rik and Gella? That's good. I'm not exactly a sight for her eyes now, to tell the truth. Oh, no, no new holes in my hide. I'll tell you later. No. Yes. As Rik would say, get in line. Yes, a snack and some caf would be appreciated. For three persons. Thanks, sister mine." He switched the comlink off. "Well, it could have been worse. Ivar, the corner of Kalleigh and Red Flowers Park, if you please."

"Aye, sir," the policeman answered mockingly and powered the speeder. "Nice place to live, if you can afford it."

"I'm not exactly hurting for money these days. And all of us had more than enough of poverty. If I can afford to indulge my family, I don't see why I shouldn't." His tone held a slightly defensive edge.

"Hey, Kyp, I'm not making a judgment here! Nothing is wrong with spending your own money on whatever you want."

The Jedi rubbed his face tiredly. "Apologies, Ivar. I'm just getting tired of folks who obviously got the idea – beats me if I know where – that a Jedi should be just five credits above hungry death."

"They're just disappointed, I guess. One less way to manipulate. Why should they like it?"

Kyp laughed. "Funny, that's more or less what the man who gave me the means to start with said. That it's his insurance, since he doesn't like the idea of someone like me being pressed into something foolish for money."

"Clever fellow. But I thought you've been staying out of the city?" Tharas just couldn't resist probing.

Another chuckle. "Investigator isn't an occupation, it's a diagnosis, Ivar?"

The policeman smiled. "Can't blame a guy for his habits, can you?"

"We have a family estate on Tahika Cliffs if you are so curious about it. If you want, you can take your wife and daughter and come to visit us. It's a delightful place."

"Thank you, I will. Just how much of our talk did you overhear?"

"Not much. I drifted in and out for a while here. Your assessment was pretty accurate, by the way, as far as I can tell, even if it took me about three or four years to draw the same sketch. But it was a little more complicated than you think."

"Things usually are. I'm not pretending to be omniscient." Ivar cast a brief glance at Miko. "Kid, you're awfully quiet here. The whiskey taking effect or what?"

He saw the young man smiling in the faint light of street illumination that was able to penetrate a toned transparisteel of the Arrow-23 windows. "As long as you're going to keep asking him questions I'm willing to play the silent audience. I've already learned more in the last two days than in the past two years."

"Am I that bad a teacher, Miko?"

"Force, Kyp, of course not. It's not about being a Jedi. It's about seeing past the cover. I know, I know, you rub my nose into it each bloody week. But I guess I understood what it means only now – here," he pointed on the left side of his chest.

"Then perhaps this sordid adventure wasn't for nothing, saving the children notwithstanding."

"Yeah. I only wish that all of your lessons aren't bound to sink in the same way."

Kyp snorted. "Hope so. Ivar, press the accelerator, would you? The distance between this speeder and my well-deserved caf is beginning to bugger me."

"You can put on your shirt meanwhile. I doubt your upper-class neighbors will appreciate the show."

"Oh. Good idea." Miko handled him the shirt and the vest. "We have a separate entrance, but still… Well, at least I didn't ruin it. Aren would be mightily upset if I did, she spent almost an year on this shirt."

"She is so bent on tradition? Very few are this days. Far easier just to pay to professional embroiders."

"You have no idea. She would consider it a sacrilege. I didn't have enough courage to object."

Ivar laughed. "Seighne women. They'll get you every time. By the way, for the sake of entertaining our silent young friend, how did an orphan from Deyer end up in the Old Clans?"

"It's a long story, Ivar, and I'm not up to telling it. Let's just say I'm a legitimate member of the Clan by all traditional laws and leave it at that. If you're as good an investigator as it seems to be, you'll be able to find out. Sorry, Miko."

"For what? For Force's sake, I was joking, Kyp!"

"Sorry, brain still off-line. Ivar, turn to the right under the 'private entrance' sign."

They went through elaborately carved gates that slid open before them effortlessly and noiselessly. The apartment building stood on a small stepped hill, which was artfully decorated with bushes, trees, flowers and other garden ornamentals. Small multicolored lights marked the twisting path, glowing softly in the twilight; somewhere to the right a blue gem of a swimming pool shimmered faintly. All that together just reeked of quiet, tasteful richness. Miko thought that somehow it sat well with this 'Old Clans' stuff they kept mentioning. Speaking of which…

"So what are these 'Old Clans'? Some kind of an aristocracy?"

"Well, I would say yes, as far as Garosians are taking these things; this planet is certainly not Alderaan. They are descendants of the first bunch of colonists. Mostly Seighne. Very respected, pretty closed. They do not often deign to go into politics and they aren't always rich, but they have a lot of informal authority. Anyone who made an enemy out of them wouldn't thrive on this planet, the Empire being the only one exception due to a brute force and the fact that the planet was exhausted in the civil war."

"They didn't exactly thrive here, Ivar. There was a lot of struggle underground." Kyp turned to Miko. "The Old Clans are keepers of tradition and a spiritual backbone to this planet's culture and society. In uncertain situations, they are usually setting an example of what to do. This often means that they're setting an example for punishment also, or at least that's how it had been during Imperial times. The situation has its drawbacks and, of course, being from an Old Clan doesn't grant wisdom and authority by default, but so far no one has been willing to change that."

"Yeah, the natives think that the Old Clans nicely balance any government, not letting the folks in power to abuse it. I have to say, monocultural society has its advantages sometimes."

"Yeah, up until it stops being monocultural, which often results in a civil war. Ivar, just stop the speeder near the garage door, it's too big to park inside. Our caf is waiting for us, or at least I hope so."

The policeman hesitated. "I should go home, probably. Shaile is used to my late arrivals, but still… Let me comm her." He fumbled with his comlink, but in that instant the door to the apartment opened and a soft orange light silhouetted a wiry figure in the doorway.

"Will you all just come in, or are you going to set up a camp outside?"

"One moment, Rik," Kyp called. "We have a domestic crisis to prevent here."

Prevention of this particular crisis proved to be easier than they suspected. Shaile Tharas was surprisingly approving of her husband's wish 'to stay for some caf with old friends'. Ivar was a little suspicious about this agreeability of hers up until it came up that Shaile was also having a girls' night out, not expecting her husband to be home this night at all. He hadn't been the previous three, after all.

"Well," the policeman resumed, "that was almost anticlimactic. Lead on to your humble abode, Kyp."

The humble abode proved to be a huge four-room apartment, decorated in deep, dark red and brown tones in surprisingly modern style. While Miko and Ivar examined the various musical instruments scattered around, datapads sitting on practically all available surfaces and holos of old space charts and odd pieces of sculpture on the walls, Aren took one look at her brother, then took a big mug of caf, added three fingers of brandy, milk and enough sugar to satisfy two little kids and said bleakly: "You. Bath. Now."

"I'm fine…"

"I said _now_. Take this with you. And don't hurry. I think I'm up to entertaining your guests for a good while."

Kyp sighed and retreated into the bathroom. Rik followed him with his eyes. "No sarcastic comments. Must have been really bad."

"It was," Miko said quietly.

Aren placed a tray with the caf and some cold food on the low wooden table by the couch. "Let's take care of the introductions. I'm Aren Denar and this is my son Rik."

"Miko Reglia. I'm Kyp's apprentice."

"I know. He told us a lot about you."

"Huh? I certainly can't say the same."

"Please, don't be angry with him for this, Miko. It doesn't mean that he doesn't trust you. He has reasons for keeping these two parts of his life separated, believe me. Or at least he thinks so."

Miko nodded, still a little gloomily.

"I'm Ivar Tharas," the policeman said. "Second Division of the Ariana Police Department."

Rik perked. "You're handling heavy crimes, yes? Murders and kidnappings?"

"Yes. Thankfully, today proved to be the second case."

"Can you please tell us what happened today? I haven't seen Kyp in such a state in many years," Aren asked.

"It's probably for him to tell, ma-am," Ivar said with hesitation.

"Don't be so formal, please. Can we be on a first name basis here?"

"Of course."

"Well, Ivar," she said, gracefully lowering herself into the chair at the other side of the table, "there isn't a lot of things that he doesn't tell us eventually. I just don't want to hurt him, even by accident, by saying something inappropriate. It probably sounds funny, me being so protective of him, but… very few are, really. And he's much more vulnerable than it may seem."

Miko made a decision. What the kriff, after all, these people were Kyp's _family_. "Did you get a good look at his back?" he asked very quietly.

The woman paled noticeably. "Please, don't tell me it was the same bastard who almost killed him on Kessel!"

"I'm afraid so, Aren," Ivar said solemnly.

Miko didn't understand a word of what the woman spat out, but judging by Ivar and Rik's facial expressions, it was something very unsuited for a lady. She took a couple of deep breaths and unclenched her fists.

"I really, really, really hope he's dead."

"He is. Kyp killed him."

"A quick death too, probably," she remarked bitterly.

"Yes."

"Figures. Pity _I_ wasn't there." She bit her lip and Miko was suddenly reminded of the man he saw in his vision – Kyp's memory. She looked nothing like the black-haired giant, but the gesture was the same, and so was a raw pain and hate in her eyes.

"Mom…" The teenager jumped up from his place in the huge armchair and hugged her. "Don't talk like that, please!"

"Why? I'm not a Jedi! I'm allowed to feel! I'm allowed to hate every one of those damned filthy scumbags who made his life hell for years! I'm allowed to want to kill every one of them who has no business to be still alive – and kill them slowly!" Angry tears were boiling in her eyes, but her voice was still quiet and level, ominously so.

"Because anger is blinding, remember? And because he's already dead. You are tearing yourself apart over a dead man, isn't it pointless? And Kyp wouldn't be happy to see you like that. Sit. Calm down. Have a brandy. Or two brandies." He was talking in a voice that held an odd mixture of comfort and casualness, shaking her a little, wiping her eyes with handkerchief, settling her back in her chair – and all that without stopping talking. "It was Kyp's decision, it was his right. Not much use in 'what ifs', didn't you made a hole in my head with this words?"

Aren sniffed and took the glass of brandy that Ivar poured for her. "I hate it when you behave like you are fifteen years older than you are."

"Tough," the teen smirked. "I'm just a smart and caring person."

"Not to mention modest."

"Of course I'm modest. I never go to nudist beaches, do I?" he said, widening his blackberry eyes in a patently false naiveté.

All three of them laughed, glad to have the opportunity to dispel the tension.

"Nice place you have here," Ivar said, obviously deciding to take an initiative for making a small talk onto himself. "To tell the truth, after some things Kyp had said I was expecting something more… traditional."

Aren made a face. "My brother couldn't resist a little gossiping, could he?"

Rik laughed. "Kyp and I decorated. Mom's idea of decoration is to leave everything on the exactly same place it was two hundred years ago. Just wait until you see Rann Na Móna. There's 'traditional' for you, in spades."

"Rann Na Móna?" Ivar asked in astonishment. "You are the owners of Rann Na Móna?"

"Yes," Aren answered. "Or, more precisely, Kyp and I are. Rik will have his share when he turns sixteen. Why are you so surprised?"

"I guess I just never thought it was anything more than a legend. I like the song, you know, and I never thought it was written about a real place." He squinted his eyes and slowly, noticeably taking care to pronounce the words properly, recited:

"_Rachad go Rann Na Móna_

_Rachad go Rann Na Móna_

_An aig atá galánta_

_Thíos chois na fairrge_

Rachad go Rann Na Móna" 

Rik caught Miko's uncomprehending stare and translated, in the same lilting cadence with soft, caressing L's:

"_I'll go to Rann Na Móna_

_I'll go to Rann Na Móna_

_The galant place_

_By the edge of the sea_

_I'll go to Rann Na Móna"_

Aren smiled. "This song was written by our great-grandfather, but very few people now remember that. Music is strong in our family. And I have no qualms with people thinking that Rann Na Móna is no more than a figment of someone's imagination. It would be hard to live peacefully with crowds parading before our doors to have a look at a legend."

The policeman laughed. "Now I am definitely going to accept this invitation Kyp issued about a family vacation out of town. Is it really as lovely as the song says?"

"Well, some things changed. Old trees died, new ones grew up; we had a couple of small landslides over the years. But… yes, it is. 'A strange smell and magic in the air' are still there. And if Kyp invited you, you are welcome, Ivar."

"Speaking of Kyp," Rik intercepted, "shouldn't he be out by now, or, dunno, making some noise at least?"

Aren frowned. "Yes, he should have been. I probably made a mistake by sending him to be alone. Check up on him, Rik, please. Quietly."

Rik padded out, completely noiseless on a polished wooden floor.

"Do you plan to be in town tomorrow? I need to talk with Kyp about how much of his involvement in this mess he's willing to let out…"

"Knowing him, none at all," Miko muttered.

"It might not be possible, kid. We can't just order the boys to be quiet. And the Chief of Police would most probably like to talk with both of you, too. This is the first time Jedi assisted us with an investigation and he's bound to have a lot of questions."

"I honestly don't know, Ivar," Aren said thoughtfully. "We didn't plan to stay here tonight at all. It was supposed to be a shopping trip, nothing more. Give us a call in the morning, or, better still, give us your comm frequency. I'll tell Kyp to get in touch with you." She handled him one of the datapads that were scattered around.

"How do you know which one belongs to whom?" he asked with a touch of humor.

"By color, mostly." She smiled. "They have a complicated identification system for this, completely incomprehensive to outsiders. And _I_ store _my_ stuff traditionally – on shelves."

"Hooray for tradition," the policeman snickered, keying his numbers in.

Rik emerged from the dark corridor with a half-amused, half-concerned expression on his face. "Guess what? He fell asleep in the tub. I think the brandy and hot water did the trick. But what now? I don't think we can safely let him sleep all night in the water."

His mother sighed. "As much as I don't want to, you probably should wake him up. I'll get the bed ready."

"Don't," Miko interrupted. "I'll get him out. Just show me where his bedroom is and don't get in the way."

"Well, I think that's my cue to leave," Ivar said, getting up. "I hope to see you again, Aren, Rik."

"Definitely," Aren nodded.

**

* * *

**

_**7 hours later, Red Flowers apartment complex, Ariana. **_

_**

* * *

**_

He woke up still feeling a bit disconnected, since his memory was telling him he wasn't in the same place he had been when he fell asleep. Without opening his eyes he tried to remember: they got into their apartment, Aren sent him to the bathroom with the mug that contained more hot brandy than caf, then nothing. Guess brandy after the sedative on an empty stomach wasn't exactly the best idea. Or maybe it was.At least he was able to sleep, and without nightmares, too. He opened his eyes cautiously. Yes, he was in his bedroom in their apartment in Ariana, on a familiar wide bed with fine red ramordian silk sheets. A glimmering light of the night lamp that imitated a natural fire was filling the room, making shadows flicker and dance. Aren was sitting in the big armchair at the foot of the bed, a woolen throw on her lap, apparently asleep. As if feeling his gaze, she opened her eyes and smiled: "Hi."

He woke up still feeling a bit disconnected, since his memory was telling him he wasn't in the same place he had been when he fell asleep. Without opening his eyes he tried to remember: they got into their apartment, Aren sent him to the bathroom with the mug that contained more hot brandy than caf, then nothing. Or maybe it was.At least he was able to sleep, and without nightmares, too. He opened his eyes cautiously. Yes, he was in his bedroom in their apartment in Ariana, on a familiar wide bed with fine red ramordian silk sheets. A glimmering light of the night lamp that imitated a natural fire was filling the room, making shadows flicker and dance. Aren was sitting in the big armchair at the foot of the bed, a woolen throw on her lap, apparently asleep. As if feeling his gaze, she opened her eyes and smiled: "Hi." 

"Hi. Why are you here?"

"I didn't want to leave you alone this night; I was afraid you may have nightmares."

"Thank you. No, I slept like a baby. No dreams at all."

"Good."

"How did you manage to get me out of the tub without waking me up?"

She smiled. "You were so firmly out that I doubt we would have been able to wake you. Miko hailed you out, with the Force, I guess."

That made sense. He was so used to their joined exercises in telekinesis, that it shouldn't have alerted him even in a normal sleep. "How is he?"

"Fine, as far as I can tell. Sleeping on the sofa in the living room. He was worried about you."

"They told you what happened, didn't they?"

"Yes, although they didn't go into details." She smiled ruefully. "They probably were afraid I would freak out even more than I did."

"Can't blame you for that. I freaked out very badly myself and I shouldn't have."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I slipped in the blink of an eye, Aren. And I thought I was past this already." He didn't look at her face and concentrated on his hands instead, picking at the edge of his bed sheet. "There was a boy, eleven years old, if that. He did to him what he did to me, only with something less cruel than an electric whip, leather strip, I guess. He even looked a bit like me – wavy dark hair, hazel eyes, pale complexion. When I opened this vapin' door and saw him, something broke out. I almost incinerated the bastard on the spot, with a Sith technique no less… If Miko didn't stop me…"

"What would have happened?"

"I don't know. That's what scares me shitless – I don't know. In that moment nothing existed for me but this butcher. I wasn't even thinking about this poor boy, I didn't even _see_ him. I saw myself, like in some sort of a time loop, and I wanted revenge for myself. At any price."

"So what is so awful in this?"

"What?" he asked incredulously, raising his head to meet a calm gaze of her smoky eyes. "How about everything?"

"Brother mine," she asked exasperatedly. "Do you think of yourself as a human being?"

"Yes, of course, but…"

"But nothing. You take the whole package or you take nothing at all. You can't by some freaking rule be allowed to feel only one part of an emotional specter and not the other. Compassion and the need for revenge are twins. If you stop feeling the one, you'll eventually stop feeling the other. Do you want this?"

"No."

"Good. I wouldn't want it for you, either. I love you just the way you are, with all your virtues and all the flaws that derive from them. Want to hear what I think about this?"

He smiled. "Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice. So?"

"Yes, please."

"I think that even if Miko didn't stop you, nothing would have changed, really. You are too strong to slip completely. Not even back then and definitely not now. Yes, you are bound to return to your old habits from time to time, you are only human after all. Humans make mistakes. But making a mistake doesn't mean you'll change suddenly and permanently back into a Dark Lord of the Sith. This bit of history isn't going to repeat itself. You are an adult now, you know yourself and yes, you are strong. Of course, in theory it's good not to make any mistakes at all, but since when are any of us perfect?"

"You're making it sounds so… trivial."

"You said that already, I believe. And I'll say again: nothing is trivial with you. But I was never able to understand why you guys treat yourselves like you and your Force is different from any other thing in the galaxy. Everything can be good or bad, from a certain point of view. Electricity can give us energy to live or it can be employed in an electric whip. A sea can be a source of food and a giver of life – and it will kill you in a moment if you are not careful. A builder can build a home to live in happily or he can build a horrid prison. Do you follow me here?"

"So far so good. But you are forgetting that for the builder it's a conscious choice. He is not a thing of nature."

"We all are things of nature. But yes, I know what you mean. Tell me, does it mean that once making the choice to build a prison the builder will never again be able to build a home?"

"No. But…"

"If you are going to tell me that the Jedi are different, I'll cuff you over the head!"

He snickered. "That is a strong argument if I ever heard one."

She shook her head. "You fear the Dark Side. You are probably right. But you don't have to fear yourself. That is a sure way to self-destruction, didn't Keit tell you this?"

"He did. I'm just having troubles separating these two things in my mind. You said I know myself. I'm not so sure about that nowadays."

"You are growing up, little brother. New views, new values. You'll sort them out, believe me."

"You know, I'd like dearly to take you to Yavin IV and listen while you talk philosophy with Skywalker. I really don't like some of the trends they are developing in the last five years or so."

"One day, if you'll decide to quit this game of hiding…"

"Aren, we discussed this already. I have too many enemies for that."

"Probably less than you think. But I'm not going to argue with you about this now."

"Thank the Force."

"Hush. And this man says I'm overprotective. Will you think about what I said?"

He smiled lopsidedly. "Funny thing is, I was mulling over the very similar ideas for quite some time now. I even lectured Miko along the same lines. But I'm having trouble applying it to myself. It's not easy to override what you was taught first, Kun's lessons aside."

"I have faith in you." She kneeled near the bed and took his right hand in both of hers. "You are your own worst enemy sometimes, Kyp Durron. But no enemy can bring you down if you are not allowing it. You are a rare gem, don't diminish your own value."

"Aren…"

"It's the truth. Even if it makes you blush."

He made a sour face. "You are a little too fond of me blushing."

"What, are you afraid it'll ruin your tough as durasteel image?"

He smiled sheepishly. "I'm used to it."

"I bet." She played with his fingers for some time, not looking him in the eyes. "You know, it was kind of a revelation to see you today, how you were dealing with Ivar and others. So competent, so sure. I knew about this side of your life, but I never _saw_ it. You were always my baby brother, from the very first day. I guess I really noticed that you grew up only today… yesterday. You traveled a long way from the boy I held at a gunpoint thirteen years ago. Do you remember him, all prickles and raw wounds?"

He smiled, not without bitterness. "I remember."

**

* * *

**

_**Garos IV, 12 years ABY. **_

_**

* * *

**_

Hitching a ride to recently liberated Garos IV from Coruscant proved to be surprisingly tricky. Renting a ship was out of question, as much because of the pitiful state of his finances as because no one had been willing to rent anything to him, which probably had less to do with who he was than with what he was. Seventeen, broke and without any financial guarantees. Not even a bank account. So, after a week of loafing around the spaceport he finally came to a conclusion that the only way to get a ride would be mind-whamming some captain, and that wasn't something he was willing to do. So he ended up doing what he didn't like doing at all – asking Han to find him some hyperspace-capable piece of junk. Han, although a little preoccupied with an upcoming trip to Ithor, proved to be as good as ever. No questions asked, no unnecessary advices given, in two days time Kyp received the key chips and all required papers to an old Z-95 Headhunter, much like the one he stole from Mara Jade. He was treated with a quick "Have fun, kid!" and the famous lopsided grin, and Han drowned into the trip preparations again. Kyp didn't know any details, but it was obviously something important, with Luke going with them and all that. Well, it wasn't like it was any of his business. He had plenty of headaches of his own.

Unfortunately, he had time to think during the hyperspace jump. A whole three days of thinking, and none of it was good. Rurik's letter was burning his skin through the material of his flightsuit. How would you meet someone who brings you the news of your father's death? How would you meet someone who was named your brother by your father but whom you are seeing for the first time in your life? How would you meet this someone when he would tell you his name – the name that was now one of the most hated names in the galaxy, tied tightly with the words 'mass murder'?

_Aren_.

_Aren Segan_.

He knew so much about her that it seemed like she was really his sister. Countless times they – he and Rurik – sat on their bunk and dreamed aloud about the day when Fate would be kind enough to reunite them. He knew everything about her – her character, her childhood mischief, her favorite words… well, at least to the point when her father had to sign a contract for this ill-fated tour. She was barely fourteen at the time. But she knew nothing about him, nothing at all.

Will she accept him? Or will she feel obliged to take him in on her father's wish? Rurik said she honored traditions. He didn't want to be accepted because of duty. Kyp knew it was foolish, that he really couldn't afford to be picky about such things anymore, that it was his trice-damned pride speaking again, but that was how he felt. He wanted nothing with the acceptance out of obligation. He had enough of that with Leia and it left a sour taste in his mouth and an ache in his heart.

_She'll probably show me the door as soon as I tell her my name. And she'll be right. Let's face it, Kyp, you already have more than you deserved – Han and Luke. Why the kriff do you expect her to be another miracle? She'll show you the door and you know what you'll do – you'll go through it with your head held high and cry yourself to sleep later. Be ready to do it. You can't break down in front of her, she might feel sorry for you with her generous heart. Wouldn't that be really pathetic?_

And so it went for three days, again and again. He was getting good at this particular kind of self-torture, not that he could stop doing this anyway. The last night he opted for a trance instead of sleep, which solved the problem of nightmares, but aroused another one – now he had too much time to brood. Salvation appeared in a form of a portable dejarik desk, which he found in one of the compartments. He spent almost six hours recreating his last two games with Chewbacca, trying to understand how did the Wookiee beat him. It helped. And then he had to put all his doubts and self-reproaches aside, because he was coming out of hyperspace, and that was no small deal with the Nyarikan Nebula on premises.

He didn't know what to do when the planetary control services hailed him. Give his real name? He wasn't sure they would allow him to land at all. Give the false name? He'll still have to get through controls, but at least he would be groundside already. State himself as Rodion Segan? He didn't have any formal rights to use this name, not yet, probably not ever. In the end he stated himself as Zeth Cullen, using the last name of one of the inmates from Kessel and resigning to the inevitability of performing a mind trick on the control officer, which, thankfully, proved to be unnecessarily. He was a little surprised about such a relaxed attitude, until someone told him with a smile: "Hey, kid, you better hurry up! The Uni registration closes tomorrow!" Only then he remembered about the University of Garos IV. Obviously, there was an enrolling boom recently; the spaceport was flooded with young people.

_So nice not to be out of place_, he thought sarcastically. He has always been an odd one – the only child on Kessel, at least the only one who survived, the youngest at the Jedi Academy, not to mention the strongest. Even back on Deyer he stood apart from the other children his age – too clever, too precocious and too strange with his unusual abilities and weird dreams to be fully accepted. And now he was just one in a crowd, a guy like all others, only he knew it for the lie it was. What a joke. He headed for the information terminal. No Aren Segan listed amongst the inhabitants of Ariana City. Well, he always had the other place to try.

His finances proved enough for renting a modest speeder. He didn't have to ask for a map; Rurik had told him how to get to Rann Na Móna, oh, only about three of four hundred times. He was reluctant to part with the city just yet, though, driving around in circles, enjoying this warm urbane beauty, so unlike the cold glory of Coruscant. Ariana literally bubbled with youthful joy and the feeling of well-being, like an opened cane of fizz-pop; there obviously was an economical boom in the uprising. He was honest enough with himself, though, to recognize his efforts in procrastination for what they were – cowardice. _Would you get on the road already, Durron? The sooner you get this over and done with the sooner you can get back, hole yourself in your ship and have your hour or so of self-pity. Pathetic._

The forests on this planet were beautiful, but after the enormous jungles of Yavin IV they failed to amaze him. The flower fields, though, were another matter entirely. They captured him immediately, waving an invisible net of different smells around him, strong but subtle in their embrace of a hot fragrant breeze interwoven with a cold fresh sea wind. He stopped the speeder and slowly made his way into the world of welcoming coarse stems, crowned with gentle beauties of different colors and shapes. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to run naked through this multitude of friendly strokes, run until his breath came short and his skin became raw, and then just lay on his back somewhere, looking at the clear skies and listening to the winds talking. But there wasn't time now, he had to do what he had to do and… well, there would be a time for that at some point, would there not? Hopefully. "I will be back, pals," he whispered to the bowing flowers, and jumped back into the speeder.

Finding the valley entrance was an easy task. Ten or eleven years were obviously an insufficient amount of time to change the contours of the Tahika Cliffs. All the markers Rurik told him about were still in their places. The first surprise waited for him inside. An awkward construction of wooden beams and metallic wires crossed the valley at the place where it was most narrow, just where, according to Rurik's description, a defensive interdiction field should have been. _What the kriff?_ He wanted to see what the problem was with the field, but it was impossible to access the working panels without dislodging this… crude reconstruction of an ancient bantha corral. Well, this mystery would have to wait. He left the speeder and went to the other side through a more or less successful imitation of the gates. He would just have to make it to the house on foot, big deal.

He thought briefly of checking for inhabitants, but decided against it. It just didn't feel right. He wasn't supposed to be a Jedi here; he was supposed… _ah, stang! Stop it, you moron! Can you just forget about what ifs for a moment?_

It was strange, like walking through a place seen in dreams. Everything was new, but strangely familiar at the same time, making him want to touch something sometimes, just to make sure it wasn't a vision: a shaggy tree bark, bush leaves, the crystal clear water that overflowed a huge stone bowl…

"Freeze!"

The command came seemingly out of nowhere and for a brief second he regretted not using the Force. The only thing that stopped him from rolling away and coming up in the battle stance with his lightsaber ignitedwas the fact that it was a female voice.

He froze.

"Raise your hands – slowly!"

He did.

"Now turn around."

He turned. She was standing not five meters from him, behind a huge tree that could easily hide her slender figure completely. Sandy hair, grey eyes, thin, aristocratic face. Yes, it was she. A heavy BlasTech DL-44 (_Han's favorite_!) held competently in the small hands only confirmed her identity.

"Holy Mother," she said with contempt. "They couldn't find anyone else to intimidate me this time? The last thug was much more imposing."

He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Intimidate? Thugs? What are you talking about?"

"Like you don't know," she spat bitterly.

"I don't. Really. What's going on, Aren?" Just to be sure he asked: "You are Aren Segan, aren't you?"

She lowered her blaster suddenly. "What did you say?"

"I asked you what's going on here, since I have no idea what you are talking about," he said patiently.

"No. What name did you call me?"

"Aren Segan. It _is_ your name, isn't it? I doubt there are two sandy-haired women with grey eyes in Rann Na Móna."

She lowered her eyes, looking at the blaster in her hand: "Nobody calls me that anymore. Why do you?"

He was getting a little frustrated with his uncomfortable position. "Can I lower my hands, please? I kriffin' sure don't have any ill intentions toward you."

She snorted. "Like you could even if you wanted to."

In any other situation he would have laughed. But he didn't feel like laughing now. Something was seriously wrong here. "So, can I stop impersonating a scarecrow?"

She nodded curtly and looked at him with a puzzled expression, while he rubbed his wrists. "So, who are you and what do you want from me?"

_Only your acceptance._ "Nothing. I have a letter for you. Can we sit somewhere for this talk? I'm afraid you'll need it."

She looked at him with apprehension and silently gestured toward the path to the house, indicating that he should go first. But when they got to it, she didn't invite him in. Instead, she sat on the front steps with a grace that was more suited for a throne room and said: "Well?"

He swallowed. _There it comes_. The small piece of flimsy that he retrieved from his breast pocket was carefully wrapped in a layer of duraplast. It was thin, covered with brown-red, faded, stuck together words, fried at the edges and dirty. He saved it through the numerous searches on Kessel, escaped with it, carried it with him during his ill-fated quest for revenge. It was safeguarded by Han Solo while he was rotting alive in the company of spiders in the Imperial Palace prison. It nearly perished along with him in a black hole in the heart of the Maw Cluster and it almost was forgotten and discharged by a negligent keeper in the medical center on Coruscant. He knew this letter by heart, he read it countless times, memorizing every sign in case he wouldn't be able to save it. And now, at last, it got to its addressee. He held it out to her and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see her reading that her father – _their_ father – was dead. He didn't have to see it. He could feel it anyway.

My dear girl!

Trite as it is, if you are reading this, I'm already dead. Don't cry, please, I never could stand your tears. Mine was a good life, full of love and music and I wouldn't have traded it for anything. Except possibly for a chance to get out of Kessel alive and see my beloved children together. Yes, children. The name of the boy who'll give you this letter is Kyp Durron, and he's the reason why I don't regret the years spent in this hellish prison. If I'd got the chance, I'd have named him my son by all traditional and written laws, but seems like it's not going to happen. This is my last gift to you – a brother that will love you and cherish you, as you deserve and more. I can't say how much I love you both; there isn't a word to describe this feeling. I hope you and he will let love guide you, allow it to shape you into what you are meant to be: a family, a raft of unity against the sea of loneliness. Your soul is a clean air, his a blazing fire. Together you will be happy, you will be complete. I know it, I saw it in my dreams. I love you, Aren. Have a good life, daughter mine.

Forever yours, Rurik Segan.

He heard a sound, a muffled sob, and opened his eyes. Aren's erect posture was gone. She was sitting in the same place, shoulders stooped, looking blindly at the tiny piece of flimsy that was smaller than half of her palm and baiting her lips in a manner that was too familiar to him. But her eyes were dry. She honored her father's wish – or she had lost her ability to cry. He didn't like this thought at all. She stretched a hand without looking at him, and for a moment he couldn't realize what she wanted. _Oh, yes_. He handed her the wrap and watched as she reverently re-wrapped the tiny scrap with shaking fingers and put it beneath the neckline of her dress. Then she stood, straightened her posture and said quietly:

"Welcome home, brother."

_Just like that?_ "Aren, are you sure?" He couldn't believe his ears.

"Why I shouldn't be sure?"

"You saw my name and you are still willing to take me as a brother?" he asked incredulously.

She looked at him in puzzlement. "What's wrong with your name?"

"You don't know? You really don't?"

"You're saying it like it's impossible not to know. What are you – a holostar? Sorry to disappoint, but I don't have a holoprojector."

He laughed, and even for his own ears it sounded hysterical. Of all the possibilities, this was the one he has never thought about. His laugh died with something akin to choke when he understood what her ignorance meant: that he had to tell her the story. In full. Himself. Right now. Fate obviously was having a field day with him.

"Holostar? I think in a certain sense of the word… Aren, please, sit back. I need to tell you this before I cross the threshold of this house. And if you don't want to repeat what you just said to me, I'll understand that."

He told her all, in a monotonous, expressionless narrative, not raising his eyes even once to look at her face. Deyer. The plundering of his home. Kessel. Rurik. Han. Escape. Daala. Scheduled to termination. Escape. Coruscant. The Jedi Academy. Skywalker. Exar Kun. Escape. Qui Xux. Endor and his taking a name of Dark Lord of the Sith upon himself. Battle with his teacher. Sun Crusher. Elimination of Daala's fleet. Carida and Zeth. Han. Prison again. Trial. Luke's acceptance and the second trial – with the Dark Side in Kun's temple. The Maw. The suicide dance with a Death Star on a brink of a black hole. Escape. He skipped three weeks in bacta and seven operations it took to mend his bones and torn muscles in-between the dips. It wasn't relevant. When he finished, his throat was dry, his head was aching and he could barely remember where he was and why he had to relive all that. _Aren. Yes. Just a little more and it'll be over. _

"Aren, I want you to understand: despite what this letter says you don't have to accept me. Things changed. Rurik couldn't predict what I would become. And you don't deserve a mass murderer, hated by the entire galaxy, as a brother. You don't deserve to be hated along with me." He fell silent, aware that he didn't have anything more to say and afraid that he had already said too much, let his craving for acceptance slip into his words. He still couldn't bring himself to look in her eyes.

"Brother," a small, crackling voice said, "How old are you?"

_That_ was the last question he expected to hear. Aren certainly had the ability to surprise him. "Seventeen," he answered honestly, then hesitated. "At least I think so. If not, it's close enough. We didn't exactly celebrate New Year's Fêtes on Kessel. And Deyer years were different from standard ones." Shook out of his misery a little by this mundane question he at last found the strength to look at her. She was staring at him with her eyes as big as moons and with an absolutely horrified expression on her face. His heart sank. Horrified. Of course. What else had he expected, really?

"You think?" she repeated brokenly. "Seventeen? Seven…teen…"

And, to his absolute horror, he saw that her grey eyes began to fill with tears. Her face lost all its cool composure. Only the pain remained - _Pain? For me?_ - settling on her like a veil, making her appear frail and weak, and in a flash he forgot all his misgivings, falling on his knees before her, grabbing her hands, squeezing them, kissing her palms. "Aren, don't cry, please, don't cry! Why, Aren? What did I say?"

The thin, cold hands jerked out of his hold, but before disappointment had a chance to settle, they were back, hugging him with an unexpected force, painfully, as if she was afraid he would slip through them and disappear.

"You poor, foolish, wonderful baby," a sobbing voice said in his ear. "You really thought I would reject you?"

He was sobbing himself, with dry, painful sobs – from relief, from the almost-forgotten luxury of being hugged, from the overwhelming feeling of another miracle happening, a miracle that he neither deserved nor expected. "Yes…"

"Forget it," she said fiercely, taking his head in her hands and looking him directly in the eyes. "I don't care what anyone else thinks. I don't care about your mistakes. I don't even care what _you_ think of yourself. From this day forward you are my brother, Kyp Durron, and don't you ever dare to doubt me again!" She kissed his brow, gently, like a benediction. "Welcome home, brother."

He had a home, again. He had a family, again.

Another impossible wish granted. Perhaps hope wasn't such a foolish idea after all.

**

* * *

Trivia and commentary:**

Late Russian actor, poet and singer Vladimir Vysotsky represents Ivar Tharas.

Well, this part is self-explanatory, I guess. Whatever is not cleared here, will be cleared later. So, for now, there is only the song Ivar cited.

**Rann Na Móna**

Rachad go Rann Na Móna _I'll go to Rann na Móna_

Rachad go Rann Na Móna _I'll go to Rann na Móna_

An aig atá galánta _The galant place_

Thíos chois na fairrge _By the edge of the sea_

Rachad go Rann Na Móna _I'll go to Rann na Móna_

(Repeat)

Lá breá aoibhinn samhraidh _On a fine summer's day_

'Gus mé go tuirseach tlath-lag _I'm sad and weary_

Ní raibh a fhios dá laghadh ag duine _Because don't know how the people are doing_

Ar bith an scéal deas a tharla dom _And I have no news about what's happening_

'S mé dul síos an cosán beag _I'd love to walk on the little paths_

Gan smaoineamh ar mo bhealach _With no idea where I'm going_

Le boladh féir, tháinig draiocht san aer _The scents, there's magic in the air_

Is thosaigh mo chroí a dhamhsa _My heart would dance_

Chorus:

Rachad go Rann Na Móna, Móna _I'll go to Rann na Móna, Móna_

Rachad go Rann Na Móna _I'll go to Rann na Móna_

An aig atá galánta _The galant place_

Thíos chois na fairrge _By the edge of the sea_

Rachad go Rann Na Móna _I'll go to Rann na Móna_

(Repeat)

I dtosach tá crann beithe _In the front are crumbling trees_

Ar chúl tá crann rua _In the back are red trees_

I lár tá fraoch corca _In the middle is a purple moor_

Is fuiseóg beag faoi cheilt _And the lark is in hiding_

'S tá amhrán ag an éan seo _And this bird is singing_

Go luath sa trathnóna _Early in the morning_

Maoidheamh! Boladh féir is draíocht san aer _Indeed! A strange smell and magic in the air_

Is ach an gcroí a dhamhsa _And my heart is dancing_

(Chorus twice)

Táim cinnte beidh mo shaidh le fagháil _I'm sure that I'll get what I need_

Sa tobar bhfhuighidh mé uisce _I'll get water from the well_

Goidfidh mé bradán _I'll steal a salmon_

Ó'n Fhairrge Mhór in aice liom _From the big sea beside me_

'S má fhaghann sibh cuirt ar an áit seo _And if you'll come to visit this place_

Go luath insan oíche _early in the night_

Geallaim, boladh féir is draíocht san aer _I promise, a strange smell and magic in the air_

Is dhéanigh bhur gcroí dhamhsa _And our hearts will dance_

(Chorus)


	7. Part 6

**Part 6** **

* * *

_Morning, Red Flowers apartment complex, Ariana.

* * *

_**

The smell of brewing caf woke Miko up. He stretched, yawned and opened his eyes, trying to remember why his bed was so unusually soft. Oh, yes, Kyp's apartment. What time was it? He looked at his chrono. Eight hundred, almost. And judging by the smell, at least one of his hosts was already awake. Miko threw away the fleece cover that someone put over him during the night, stood up and looked at himself with disgust. It wasn't the first time that he had had to sleep in his clothes, but it wasn't any better upon repeat. For a moment he just stood there, trying to decide which one of two attractions drew him more – the caf or the 'fresher, but since he didn't have anything to change into after the shower, the caf won.

Miko had just begun to move in the direction of the best morning smell in the galaxy, when he heard something from the same place: a quiet, light music, or, rather, some music phrases, some complete, some not, and random notes. It seemed like someone was tuning an instrument. The notes blended with the smell of a fresh caf and the beams of sunlight that were able to filter through the window draperies, somehow creating a feeling of easy, lighthearted harmony. He smiled. It was certainly a nice way to start a day, even in smelly and rumpled clothes.

The kitchen was big, bright, modern and tastefully decorated like the rest of the apartment. A big caf-maker was gurgling on the counter and two covered plates and a fruit bowl next to it clearly stated that at least today he wouldn't have to make a breakfast himself. Which pleased him to no end.

Rik, who was seated at the far end of a big rectangular table with a strange musical instrument, stopped playing, raised his head and said: "Hi. Help yourself. If you don't like caf, we have milk, kopi tea, tanque tea and some juices."

"Don't worry. I'm a caf fiend."

Rik snorted. "Figures. Like teacher like student. Tanque tea is a better stimulant, y'know? Not to mention the taste." He made a strange hand movement, hovering above the surface of the instrument, changing an altitude and an angle of his palm, and the flat board answered with a musical phrase in minor key.

"What is it?" Miko nodded at the strange thing, pouring himself a mug of caf.

"A touchboard. Strange name for something that doesn't require being touched in order to be played. Kyp brought it almost a year ago, but I somehow never had enough time to explore it properly. Funny toy, but not for a serious performance."

The plates proved to contain some cold meats, a couple types of cheese, some sliced vegetables, butter and two types of bread, one dark and one light. Which suited Miko just fine. He made two sandwiches and took his goods to the table, seating on the opposite end from the teenager, who continued his experiments with the obscure device.

"All I know of music is that it divides into two categories: one I can dance to and one I can't." Rik leveled a look of pure pity on him. The young Jedi couldn't help but smile. "Why do you think it's not for a serious performance?"

Rik's black-haired head tilted to the right, a dusky-skinned hand made a quick, flying motion, to which the instrument answered with a brief staccato phrase. "Too capricious. It's hard to get a stable, repetitive quality of performance with a piece like this. But it can be useful for improvisations and mood playing. Sometimes. I'm interested to see how uncle manages this thing, though."

Miko paused in the middle of chewing. "He can play it?"

"Probably. I didn't ask about this one. Sometimes he brings some foreign piece of junk as a joke, just to see if I can manage it. I'm more versatile than he is in this respect."

So Kyp could play, at least some instruments. Miko filed this piece of information away for later use and said thoughtfully: "I think I've seen something like this thing in some jizz bands."

"Well, you can see all kind of things in jizz bands. But…" another musical phrase, this time an ascending scale, "to play professionally you need to know the exact effect you can produce with each instrument, at any time… and I can't do that with this one. But it's probably just me."

"Are you a professional musician, Rik?"

"I have three years left at the Academy." The teen met Miko's inquiring look and elaborated: "The Academy of Fine Arts at the University of Garos IV. Music faculty. After that… well, we'll see. I hope so."

The young Jedi got the impression that something about this particular subject was bothering the boy, so he changed it. "Where are the others? And what's on the agenda for today?"

"Kyp had left for a morning run just before you got up. He said he spent couple of hours meditating and he's all right now. He'll probably go to the pool after that. You can join him, I'll dig you up a swimsuit. Mom and Gella are still sleeping. As for the agenda, I have no idea. You'll have to talk to this police officer, that's for sure. Uncle didn't say anything else."

Miko finished his meal and put his cup in the washer unit. "Thanks for the food. You know, I'm freaking out a little each time when you call Kyp 'uncle'. Up until yesterday I thought all his family was dead."

"Very few people know and they are all here, on Garos IV. Mom was just kinda mad yesterday and wanted to get to him. It's an old issue between them. Kyp is afraid that if word gets out, somebody can use us against him and mom thinks we can take care of themselves just fine, thank you very much."

"Logically speaking, he is right, of course. But it's still weird."

"Tough. Consider yourself privileged; you are the first non-Garosian he brought here. So, are you going to the pool or not?"

Miko, upon some pondering, decided not to comment on the 'privileged' remark. Something was telling him that getting into a verbal sparring with that boy might not be a safe decision. Instead he just nodded: "Of course. Are you going, too?"

"Maybe later. If Gella wakes up, I don't want her to bother mom. She sat with Kyp half the night."

"Why?"

"Just in case. Come on, I'll get you a swimsuit. And we can run your clothes through the cleaner while you're out."

"That would be nice. Kyp's pants are too long for me and yours will be too tight, I suspect. I prefer to wear my own." He took the swimsuit and retreated into the bathroom to shower and change. The cleaner, though, puzzled him; it was an unfamiliar model and Miko decided to ask Rik for assistance rather than to risk ruining his only outfit. The teen managed the appliance with a brisk effectiveness, sorting clothes by compartments and choosing appropriate settings. "You are awfully good with it," the young man observed. It never hurts to flatter your host a little.

Rik snorted. "I live here half of my time. Of course I am."

"You live here alone?" Miko was surprised. On a majority of civilized planets it would have been considered unwise, if not against the law, to let a boy Rik's age live by himself.

"Yeah, most of the time. Mom lives here too, when she is teaching in the Academy, which is three times in a week, but I usually stay in the dormitory those days. Gives us both a little breathing room. Why are you so surprised?"

"It's just not common to see a boy like you… I mean, on most planets…"

Rik snorted again. It was probably a habit with him. "I know precisely what you mean. Garos IV isn't 'most planets' and I'm not an average boy," he said matter-of-factly.

_Now where have I seen this attitude before? _Miko thought with certain amusement. But if this boy's confidence was cut out from the same stock as Kyp's, he most probably could back it up with something to spare. In any case, it wasn't prudent to say anything, or even make an assumption, until he knew Rik better. "Well, I'm off then," he announced, and got a nod and an acknowledging half-smile in return.

The water was pure delight. Not too warm, not too cold, just the right temperature to fresh him up and boost his energy. It was also salty, like seawater, and probably it was. He was crossing the big oval-shaped pool for the eleventh time, when he felt his teacher nearby. Kyp Durron's presence, if he wasn't concealing it, was absolutely impossible to miss, even without focusing. The first half-year of their living together was akin to trying to get comfortable in a close proximity to a huge blazing torch, but he got used to it with time. Now it was even comforting. He finished his lap and hang on the border of the pool, half-out of the water. Sure enough, in less than two minutes he saw Kyp's lithe figure appear from behind the trees that separated the pool from the driveway. The Jedi Master's clothes – a military-style training pants and a grey tank top – were soaked with sweat, along with a folded piece of fabric around his head which he used to keep his unruly hair out of his face, but otherwise he looked fairly fresh. He stopped at the edge of the pool just before Miko and leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees and evening his breathing.

"You can't imagine… how tempting the idea of diving in here… without bothering to take off my clothes is," he said between the breaths.

"So what's stopping you?" Miko asked with a smile.

"Come to think about it… aaaabsolutely nothing!" And with that, Kyp hurled himself into the blue sparkling water right over Miko's head, almost without a splash. He came back to the surface immediately, though, flipping onto his back and sighing contentedly. "This is the life. Pity it won't last."

"Why?"

"Because Aren will eat me for breakfast if she sees it."

"She'll eat you anyway now. You clothes are wet. Incriminating evidence."

Kyp wiggled his toes in the water. Only now Miko noticed that he was barefoot. "Touché. They're not exactly the best attire for swimming, anyway." He took off the top and wiggled out of the pants – with obvious difficulty. "Well, that's what you get for obeying the impulse." He threw the wet bundle on the ground and assumed his previous position, obviously in no hurry to begin a more rigorous exercise. Miko wondered if Kyp's reluctance to turn his back to him had something to do with it.

"Rik said you're all right. Are you, really?" he asked quietly.

Kyp turned his head to him, black hair trailing in the water like seaweed. "Yeah. As far as it's possible, anyway. I should probably ask you the same question."

"You frightened me," Miko said honestly. "More so when you killed him anyway than with this Force lighting thing, but I understood, Master, really. If I knew then what I know now, I would have done the same thing. I told you that, didn't I?"

"Yes. But that was then. What are you feeling now, when you are calm and had some time to think?"

The young Jedi was silent for a couple of minutes, then spoke: "As for you killing him – well, in this situation it was a right thing to do. As for your Dark Side outburst… You know, as paradoxical as it is, I found it reassuring. Sure, it scared me, but it would be much scarier if you didn't feel anything after what he did to you and to these boys. It would probably mean that you were already dead inside. And you _did_ stop, after all."

Kyp laughed suddenly: "Did you talk to Aren?"

"What, about this? No. We didn't talk a lot yesterday. Why?"

"Nevermind. She just told me pretty much the same thing." He traded water for some time, then spoke again: "I would like to talk to these guys who came up with our code. Peace, serenity… either they were asking the impossible, or I don't understand these words the same way they did. There is some mistake there, or possibly a misunderstanding, that's so obvious that none of us are seeing it. Yet."

"You think the code is wrong?"

"Either that, or I'm not understanding it properly. Or maybe both, or neither. I don't know, Miko. I never claimed to be a deep thinker. I'm a warrior, not a philosopher. But right now I feel that we need to find some answers, or we'll all be in deep poodoo if something more serious than an average interplanetary scuffle occurs. Dogmatic thinking never proved to be a good thing in a crisis situation."

"What we know of Jedi traditions now we've gained from the Old Order," Miko said thoughtfully. "Holocrons, various data… almost all of them are dating to the last millennium, no?"

"I would say even the last half-thousand years, most of them."

"Yeah. And no offence meant, but it seems to me that the Old Order wasn't at its best at that time. If they were, they wouldn't have been wiped out with such easiness along with the Old Republic."

"Funny, it's one of the very few things about which I still agree with Exar Kun. You don't build something like the Order and keep it running for millennia just to have it obliterated. It wasn't supposed to happen, so, there probably had been some grand mistake made somewhere."

"Right. But what I'm trying to say is this: what if all our sources are perverted? What if this… whatever it was permeated all the knowledge of the Old Order we have now? What if even the Code is wrong, or became misunderstood with time?"

"Good point. So it means that we probably have to find all the answers by ourselves, even the most basic ones, without the benefit of help from our predecessors."

"And taking nothing for granted. Now that's _scary_."

"Tell me about it. I would dearly like to know for sure that there's someone better than us for that job, but it seems like the Academy exists in happy stagnation for the moment. Or do you have some different information?"

Miko colored slightly. "I met Octa a couple of months ago. No, it seems like everything is pretty much tip-top on Yavin IV, apart for the standard assortment of troubles, you know, dark Jedi, explosives… the usual."

Kyp chuckled. "Yeah, I'm quite familiar with this type of normality. Probably Master Skywalker was right, I should pay a longer visit there. As Leia would say, I have a bad feeling about this."

"Bad feeling?"

"Forewarning, rather."

"You? Having a premonition?"

"Yeah, that's what puzzles me. If I'm having something like that, others, who are more sensitive to the future, should feel something more definite. Have you felt something unusual lately?"

"No. But I wasn't exactly paying attention."

"Do now. I can't understand it. It feels like something very important, but why me? Why not you, or Jacen Solo, or Solusar, or Skywalker, for that matter? I was always a veritable nil in predicting and even when I felt something it was usually some kind of a personal issue. But this one feels like it's more than that."

"I will look into it. We should probably do a joint meditation."

"Definitely. But not today." He tilted his head, as if listening to something. "Aren is up and getting impatient."

"Did she tell you that Ivar wanted to talk?"

"Yes, she did. I wish there was some way to avoid all these complications, but I'm afraid we'll have to pay a visit to the Police Department. Or at least I, as a good citizen, will have to."

"If you want me there, I don't mind. Really."

"Yeah? What about your plans? You remember – girls, library, pubs?"

"Like you said, they'll all be here tomorrow. Or next week. And…"

"…you are curious."

"I'm curious? Emperor's black bones, Kyp, you can't drop something like that on a guy and expect him not to be curious! Of course I am! But I don't want to pester you for answers. I'm still digesting the ones I got yesterday."

Kyp smiled and shrugged, raising a small crystal blue wave. "Well, I wouldn't want to be deliberately cruel. Ask. I can always refuse to answer, after all."

"Is this really sea water?"

The older Jedi looked at him in astonishment and then burst out laughing. "Well, that really ranks right under The Origin of the Great Spiral question. No. It's artificially adjusted to have the same salt and mineral concentration as Locura Ocean."

"I would like to see it. The ocean, I mean."

"Not a problem. But you'll be disappointed. It's too cold in this part of the continent, not to mention there are some really nasty fauna specimens. To have a nice swim you have to go to Zila." Kyp looked to the direction of the apartment. "Aren is coming."

Sure enough, the woman's slender figure, wearing a light, white sleeveless tunic that showed quite a lot of her long, well-shaped legs soon appeared on the golden sandy path. Something baffled Miko about the way she moved. He hadn't caught it yesterday, but now, when he could observe her in free motion, the oddness was evident. She stopped on the edge of the pool very close to Miko and threw a glance at Kyp's wet training outfit, which quite disgustingly looked now as a half-dried pile on the ground.

"Do you know what I think about that?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, your neatness."

"Then I shouldn't bother to say it. Next time you decide to take up residence in the pool, keep your comlink with you." She tossed him the small device. "Ivar called. He got tired of waiting for you to call. Can you please get it over with? I would like to know what we're doing today. Good morning, Miko. Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, thank you. Your sofa beats the pilot's seat in my X-wing hands down." He tried not to stare at her legs too much. She was Kyp's sister, for Force's sake! His _older_ sister at that. Still, when he lowered his eyes, he could see her reflection on the water's surface. His cheeks began to get warm, not to mention some other parts. As if noticing his discomfort, she stepped back and moved to the other side of the pool, settling with a negligent grace in the chaise lounge near her brother, who was already talking quietly into his comlink. It helped, a little. He just hoped that Kyp hadn't noticed anything. _That_ would be really embarrassing. But she really had great legs – long, straight, elegantly muscled… oh, there he was again! Miko took a deep breath and submerged himself in the water, hoping that this blasted color in his cheeks and the hard-on in his swim trunks would have the decency to subside before he drowned himself. By doing this, though, he completely missed the half-amused, half-reproachful look his Master threw at his sister, and Aren's innocuous 'who, me?' face in return.

He emerged from the bottom of the pool a couple of minutes later, breathless, but relatively calm, just in time to see Kyp tossing the disconnected comlink onto the second chaise lounge. "Ivar will pick us up at twelve hundred or so. His boss seems eager to talk. After that we're free to go."

"If nothing else happens," Aren muttered under her breath.

Kyp glanced at her: "Now who's bitching? You know it wasn't my fault."

"Yes," she sighed. "I know. It was just a broad complaint about the general unfairness of the Universe."

"Consider it filed in the Universe's customer service. Do you know what I think about that?"

She snickered and got up. "Yes, so don't bother. I'll free Rik from babysitting duties and send him to you boys. Gella, fortunately, is quite taken with the touchboard."

One black brow shot up. "She is? That's interesting."

Aren shrugged. "It's too early to tell anything."

"Yeah," Kyp drawled with a strange expression on his face. "Well, we'll see."

"You think Rik's crazy idea is true?" she asked tightly.

"It would be a very non-coincidental coincidence, don't you think? Especially the second time around."

Miko might as well have had the words 'what the kriff are you guys talking about' written on his forehead. He hadn't understood a word. Or, rather, he understood the words – just not their meanings. _I have to start writing it all down_, thought he. _Or I'll forget my former questions under the pile of latter ones!_

Aren smiled. "Don't sweat on it, Miko. We don't understand it ourselves. Yet." With that she turned around and walked away. Which kind of solved one problem, but increased the other, since Miko's attention immediately switched from her words back to her legs. The back view was much more exciting than the frontal one. He wasn't even aware that he was staring again until he heard the quiet chuckle from behind.

"Don't let your eyes pop out, kid."

The young man's face flared bright red and he stammered in an attempt to find a plausible explanation. "I… I just…"

Kyp rolled his eyes. "What? You think I didn't notice how you looked at her before?'

"Oh," Miko breathed helplessly. "You noticed?"

"Of course I noticed! What, did you expect me to play an outraged brother? Give me a break. It's a perfectly natural reaction and I know she likes to tease when in the mood. Like now."

"There's just something about the way she moves…"

Kyp pulled himself up on his hands and sat at the edge of the pool, feet still dangling in the water. "She's a professional dancer, Miko. Of course it shows."

"A dancer?"

"Yes. A dance teacher, currently."

And at that moment the young Jedi remembered where he saw a very similar kind of body movements before. Yesterday, or, more precisely, a lot sooner. Mara Jade Skywalker, Kyp Durron, Numa and Alema Rar… it was just more prominently displayed in Aren Denar. "Did she teach you to dance?"

"Not on a professional level, no. But she made bloody sure I wouldn't embarrass myself at any kind of a party."

So that was probably it. One little mystery solved. Just a hundred or so left.

"Can I ask something before Rik gets here?"

The older Jedi stretched face up on the wide stone border of the pool and folded his hands behind his head. "I see my nephew managed to confuse you already."

"What, is that a natural reaction too?"

Kyp smiled. "Probably not natural, but definitely the most common. He manages to confuse _me_ on a regular basis, so you're in a good company."

Miko glanced at his fingers that begun to develop wrinkles after so much time in the water and decided that getting out was probably a good idea. The pool border was quite inviting, especially after spreading a towel on it. Somehow he couldn't envision himself in the chaise lounge after seeing Aren in it.

"Well, we talked this morning and he mentioned that he lives in this apartment alone. I was surprised enough to let it show and he said: 'This is not a usual planet and I'm not an average boy.' So what's so peculiar about both?"

"Well, let's begin with Rik. The peculiarity with him is that despite a number of usual teenage problems he's much more mature in lots of things than any boy of his age is expected to be, even on this planet. It's nothing definite, nothing that can be pointed out directly. But… I'd trust him to cover my back any time and I can't name any other fourteen-year-old I can say the same thing about."

"Even Anakin?"

"Despite all my fondness of this boy, even him. Not yet. It's probably because Rik knows what death is firsthand."

"Oh? How so?"

"His older sister died when she was three days old. Some heart problem that medics managed to miss. When Rik was born, they checked him for this and didn't find anything. But it was there, only hidden. It came out suddenly and unexpectedly when he was seven. Fortunately, I was with them at the time." Kyp flipped onto his stomach and sighed. "I still shudder when I remember that. Usually it takes about an hour to get from Rann Na Móna to Ariana. I can manage it in forty minutes with some effort. That night, I did it in twenty, all the time keeping his blood circulating and his heart beating with the Force. It was like the Maw Cluster all over again, only worse, because I fully understood the stakes that time. I got him to the hospital alive, they did the operation, all went well and the problem never surfaced again, but… Rik changed after that. Can you imagine, during all this mad race along the Tahika Cliffs he was conscious, since his blood kept flowing. He understood fully what was happening to him, he felt it, felt his body letting him down; he understood that the only person that stood between him and his death was me, and if I failed in any one of my tasks, his life would be over. You know, all children feel as if they are immortal. They can't feel or imagine that they can die. Even I couldn't, despite all my experiences on Kessel, not on a gut level. I felt death for the first time, really felt, when I was sixteen, when I found out that Daala had scheduled me for termination, and even after that… well, anyway. Rik knows it, feels it with the intensity that is incomprehensible even for most of adults, myself included. And he doesn't waste even one minute of his time. This kid can give lessons in caution and determination to anybody. Did I answer your question?"

"Oh," Miko said again, this time in a different tone. "Poor boy."

His Master laughed openly. "Don't ever let him suspect you're thinking this. You'll find yourself on the business end of his knife, or his tongue, and I sincerely don't know which is worse!"

_Well, seems like my feelings about his verbal skills were accurate_, Miko thought._ But…_

"He's good with knives?"

"Almost as good as I am. In a couple of years he'll be better than me. He's better than me with blasters, all of them, including sniper rifles. He's even better than Aren in this respect and this is not a small thing, believe me. Hand-to-hand combat is not his favorite, but his trainer says he can make him one of the top three fighters on Garos IV if only Rik put some heart into it."

The young man shook his head. "And I thought he was a typical single-minded artistic geek!"

"He is," Kyp smiled. "And right now, he's about to arrive at any moment, so let's move onto the part two of your question."

"The planet?"

"Yes. Actually, Rik's attitude isn't considered something uncommon here. He's taking it to the extreme, but that's all. Do you know what is the legal age for driving on the most planets of the New Republic?"

"Fifteen or sixteen, usually."

"Right. It's twelve here."

"What?"

"Yes, you heard it right. Twelve. And this is for driving alone. With the parents present a child can begin to drive at ten. The legal age for all things, as is managing property or money, or voting, is sixteen standard years against the common eighteen or twenty. And there is actually no age limits whatsoever on space piloting. The only restriction is that there should be an adult supervising."

"But to have a drink you have to be twenty one!"

"Yes, this is the other side to this tradition. They encourage independence in every sense of the word, but alcohol and other mind-altering substances are considered to be a major hindrance to achieving said independence, so their usage is very restricted. Actually, anything else besides alcohol and some other very light intoxicants is banned here. You can get a life sentence in the hibridium mines for smuggling spice, no matter the amount."

"Seems a little illogical to me."

"But not to the natives. They cherish freedom, Miko, but for them freedom is first and foremost a sound mind. And anything that can cloud your judgment _and_ is addictive is a big no-no, since most youthful mistakes are easily corrected, but mistakes that result in brain-altering addictions are not."

"Well, when you put it like that…"

"I'm just telling you how the things are. I, personally, think that twenty one is a little over the top, but I'm of the minority here."

They lay for some time silently under the warm light of morning sun. It was a luxurious feeling; Miko hadn't had a lot of opportunities to do this kind of things recently and, frankly speaking, he missed it. The last year has been hectic: training the squadron, raids, information gathering, covert operations, Jedi missions and Jedi training in-between. The only free time he's got were the two weeks before this last raid and he spent most of them catching up on books, music and holovids. That was important, of course, but as a result he hadn't had much time for reflection and, with the addition of the previous days' disturbing events, he felt like a turboskier caught up in an avalanche. It was probably time to stop and think. This planet was just as good a place to do it as any other. Probably better.

"Master?"

"Hmm?"

"How long do you plan for us to be here?"

"I thought a week or so. Why?"

"I think I need a break. Some time to think, to make sense of all the problems scattered inside my brain. My head is like an overloaded closet now: a lot of questions and no answers. I need to stop and take care at least of some of them before they gang up on me. A week may not be enough for that."

Kyp raised his head and looked at him with a slightly accusing stare: "You _did_ talk to Aren, didn't you?"

"I told you I didn't!" the young Jedi answered exasperatedly. "You know, this is paranoid even for you! What's wrong with me wanting to stop for a little while?"

"Nothing at all," Kyp said hurriedly. "It just seems that you all are ganging up on _me_. Aren was nagging me into taking a break only yesterday."

"You should probably listen to her."

"Probably I should. Such an alien concept for me."

"What, listening to someone?"

His Master snickered. "Yes, that too. But I was talking about taking a break. Last time I had more than four days of doing nothing, hyperspace jumps not counting, was at the Manarai Medicentre and I begged Luke to sign me out as soon as I was able to walk from my bed to the 'fresher."

Something bothered Miko about this phrase, but he didn't catch it at first. The realization, though, came pretty quickly: it was the first time he heard Kyp Durron calling his Master by his first name. Not 'Master Skywalker'. Not 'Skywalker'. Just 'Luke'. It was strange. Master Skywalker always called him 'Kyp', but Miko never heard Kyp doing the same, even after they became equal in rank. The young man was almost ready to open his mouth and ask but the look in his Master's face stopped him. It was… not angry, just irritated; not at him but at himself.

Kyp smiled without mirth. "I think I can predict your next question. Yes, we called each other by first name for years, at least in private settings. In fact, almost everyone did. He hated to be called 'Master Skywalker' back then." His smile became bitterly wistful. "You don't know what the Academy was like when there were still less than twenty Jedi in the entire Galaxy, despite all our squabbles. Unity… brotherhood… family… you name it. Did you know, for example, that we were roommates with Luke for quite some time?"

"To tell the truth, I heard some wild stories about that period, but no, I didn't know that."

The older man lifted a brow. "Wild stories? Just _how_ wild, exactly?"

Miko colored slightly. "Pretty wild."

Kyp looked at him suspiciously. "You know, I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Almost?"

"Almost. Not quite, though. Could you please elaborate a little?"

"Did you really have a romance with Tionne?"

"What? Kid, that's not wild, that's crazy! She was mothering me to death! You saw her with kids, didn't you? Well, she mastered these skills on me." He shuddered visibly. "That's just plain _wrong_!"

"Oh, OK, OK, I got the idea!" Miko was barely able to conceal his laughter. Mothering Kyp Durron… well, as impossible as it seemed to be, after all the revelations of the last two days, the only one thing he understood with perfect clarity was that he didn't know his Master as well as he thought he did.

"You know, Miko, now I'm actually glad that you guys didn't know this bit about me and Skywalker sharing a room. I don't even want to imagine what you'd make out of that!"

"Making-out?" Miko asked with exaggerated innocence.

The older Jedi scowled at him. "Very funny."

The young man gave up and laughed aloud. It was nice to get even once in a while and he owed Kyp for the crack on the moving stairs two days ago.

"What's funny?" a new voice asked from behind him.

"Nothing, Rik," Kyp said hastily. "Miko was trying out his newly grown sense of humor. Just don't strain it, kid," he added, turning to Miko with a sugary smile. "It can be very harmful to such a newborn tissue."

Now it was Miko's turn to scowl. Rik just shrugged and dived into the pool, crossing half of it underwater.

"And we really need to work on your split attention," Kyp added quietly. "You didn't feel him coming, did you?"

"No, I didn't," the young man answered regretfully. "I guess I've got a little too comfy here."

"And I guess we've got nicely sidetracked. Let's return to the starting point. As much as I love being here I don't want to dawdle. We have responsibilities, remember? Leaving our guys alone for too long isn't good for their morale and discipline."

"Kyp, you know that information gathering is a time-consuming task. And they did very well without us for almost seven weeks when we were sent on our last mission."

"Yes, but it was a mission, not us taking a nice vacation on a beautiful planet while they are hanging around in dubiously pleasant places."

"Kyp, you just said yourself that the last time you took a break was when, thirteen years ago? And it wasn't exactly a voluntary one. Cut yourself some slack. They would understand, I assure you. By the way, what you were doing before this last raid, when you gave us a leave warrant for two weeks? I bet you didn't spend them on the beaches of Chandrila!"

"I was doing…other work. But I'll think about it, I promise. We can probably extend it to two weeks."

"You are so generous," Miko drawled sarcastically.

"Hey, a boetay doesn't change his stripes overnight! Let me get used to the idea."

"Take all the time you need," the young man snickered, and changed from his prone position to sitting cross-legged. He looked at Rik, who was crossing the pool with the long, strong strokes, then at his Master. His earlier misgivings, apparently, were for nothing; right now Kyp looked fairly comfortable laying on his stomach with his back in open view. The white lines were more noticeable now; despite his pale complexion the older man tanned easily and an hour or so of lazing under the sun darkened his skin noticeably. Miko concluded that Kyp's shyness had less to do with any kind of shame and more with a plain desire to avoid questions and thus avoid the necessity to remember unpleasant things. Very understandable.

He reviewed their conversation in his mind. They jumped from subject to subject with such speed that Miko was afraid he had missed something. It was also entirely possible that Kyp intentionally diverted his attention somewhere; the older Jedi was an expert at these kind of things. The slip about Luke had obviously been unintentional; that was probably why he channeled it into an innuendo-filled joke, giving Miko an obvious opening. That gave him a perfectly justifiable reason to cut this particular line of the conversation. Sneaky bastard…

Miko suddenly remembered another bit of gossip which he hadn't found believable at the time.

"Kyp, when did you stop calling Master Skywalker 'Luke'?"

A long exhale of breath. "Sometimes you are as single-minded as a piranha beetle! Let's just say that our friendship got heavily drizzled with icy water in the last four or five years."

"And you became a rare guest at the Academy around the same time. It's because of Mara, isn't it?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't. But the time concurs and everyone knows that she can't stand you. Do you know why?"

"Well, I did steal her ship and she can be very proprietary, although I think it's not something you can hold a grudge over for almost fourteen years. It probably has something to do with me attacking Luke and putting him into a coma. They were already friends at the time."

"Probably. That's all you can think of?"

"Yes. I never did anything to her aside from that. Actually, we barely spoke ten words to each other then. She wasn't the one for a company and neither was I at the time. Why are you asking?"

Miko opened his mouth, faltered, sighed and said: "Well, as long as we're gossiping about wild old times anyway…"

"Why do I feel like my definition of wild is going to be significantly rearranged?"

"Because it probably will. Anyway, we were talking one day – me, Octa, Ganner and Eryl Besa – and Octa mentioned this. I said that I never could understand why Mara hates you so. She even seems irrational sometimes, saying things that anybody who knows you would never believe. I said that it seems a little too much for a simple disagreement on Jedi philosophy. Ganner laughed at this and Eril snorted and said that it had nothing to do with the philosophy and everything to do with her hormones."

Kyp eyed him with a gaze that was more scared than cautious. "You are kidding, aren't you?"

"I'm just selling it as I bought it. Eril said, and I'm quoting here: 'Mara just can't forget that she didn't get any with Kyp. She was staring her eyes out at him when she first got to the Academy and he didn't even notice.' I asked where she got this information and she shrugged and said that I shouldn't worry, her sources are reliable. She was very close with Kirana Ti at the time, so… they probably were. I don't see why she would lie about something like that."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Kyp murmured. "It's probably for the best that I was never eager to socialize. Ignorance is a blessing, definitely."

"So it's true then?"

"How in the name of Emperor's dualities am I supposed to know? I didn't notice a thing, according to this funny legend. You should probably ask Mara."

"No, thanks, I'm not quite ready to become one with the Force yet!"

"I bet! Do you know how old I was then?"

"Ummm… eighteen?"

"Sixteen, Miko, sixteen. Seventeen at the most. I'm not sure."

"Ewwww!"

"Precisely. Do me a favor, please, and never repeat this story to anyone. It's too embarrassing for all dramatis personae, no matter if it's true or not."

"But if it's true…"

"I think it's highly unlikely, but even if it is… So what? I can't imagine Mara Jade consciously hitting on a sixteen-year-old boy. If she had any carnal desires for my scrawny body, she probably was unaware of them herself. It means that if she ever hears this story she will be even madder at me than she is now. Do you really want my blood that badly?"

"Ummm, no."

"Thank you," Kyp drawled acerbically.

Suddenly a huge splash of water that seemed to be as icy cold as a night on Hoth landed on their sun-heated bodies, making them jump in the air straight from their respective positions. Miko managed to land on his feet, barely avoiding falling in the pool. Kyp wasn't so lucky. He went underwater with a yelp, but surged back to surface in the next moment with an indignant: "What the kriff!"

"Sorry," Rik answered from the center of the pool, trying to swallow his giggles. "Couldn't resist."

"You do understand that such a cruel and unprovoked attack shouldn't go unpunished, don't you?" Kyp asked mildly, preparing to answer in kind.

Rik dived to the far side of the pool hastily, but that didn't prevent him from getting a face full of water as soon as he surfaced. "Hey, you should be grateful!" he shouted, torn between shielding his face from the streams of water both Jedi were hurling in his direction and trying to answer them with some of his own. "If not for me, Ivar would have found your butts in a half-roasted state, not to mention barely covered!"

Kyp stopped rapidly. "Oh, skrag! What time is it now?"

"Almost eleven, so you should probably make an effort and drag yourselves out of this magically inescapable three-meter zone around this pool."

Both Jedi groaned.

"Come on, you two!" the teenager said cheerfully, with a sweet white-toothed smile and a sadistic gleam in his dark eyes. "Gella didn't have an opportunity to say good morning to you. Yet."

Miko groaned again and fell flat into the water, quite artistically mimicking a dead faint.

In the huge living room of their apartment, Aren Denar smiled, turning from the enormous wall-to-wall window where she had been standing for the last five minutes, watching over the pool's inhabitants. Despite her misgivings, it seemed that her brother had really got over this nasty bout with the ghosts from the past. He really was growing up, shedding the cocoons of anger, guilt and gloom that had been binding his soul for so long. Shining through, as she knew he would some day. _I told you that the wounds will heal, baby. Even if neither of us believed in that at the time._

**

* * *

_Rann Na Móna, Garos IV, 12 years ABY.

* * *

_**

"My, you really have a sweet tooth!"

Kyp colored slightly, taking a sip of herbal tea to wash down the piece of _bainne-candai_ he was chewing. He didn't notice it was already his third, or, wait, forth… "Yeah. Han is always teasing me about that too. Says I'm worse than all his toddlers put together in this respect."

"Well," she answered with a smile. It was obvious that her face was making some effort to remember the expression. "I doubt you had a lot of that on Kessel, so feel free to make up for the lost time. I don't eat sweets."

"I know."

She looked at him, startled. "You know?"

"Rurik told me everything he could remember. He loved to talk about you and I loved to listen. I never had a sister. It sounds silly, but…" his cheeks went pink again, "I used to fantasize about what it would be like if we were together – father, you, I, sometimes Zeth too. I would make up some situation, something, you know, _normal_, like going to a picnic, playing waterball or watching holovids and we played it along… what I would say, what you would say, what father would do to prevent us from killing each other…"

She made a snort that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "You wouldn't have had a chance against me. I'm older. By quite a bit."

He smirked. "Never tell me the odds. You don't know what a rowdy I was." The smirk, though, didn't live long and was replaced by a brooding expression. "It's unfair, isn't it? You don't know me at all…"

A sad, sorrowful smile twisted her pale lips. "Don't trouble yourself with it. Everything you know is ten years out of date. Things changed, brother. _I changed_. Probably not for the better, too. But I don't want to talk about it just yet."

"Oooookey." He took a fifth candy from a plate, wishing he had some caf to drink with it instead of the tea. He had yet to find some kind of a tea that wouldn't remind him of the horrible concoction they used to make for the prisoners on Kessel.

Suddenly a high-pitched wail broke the silence. It was so unexpected that Kyp dropped the candy and almost dropped the cup in his haste to stand up and take his lightsaber in hand. In the next second he almost laughed at himself for his jumpiness; after the months of living in the Solo household he should have known better than to get jumpy because of a child's crying. But… a baby, here?

Aren was already near the door when they both heard the soft staccato sound of the small feet running down the hallway. The door swung open, hitting a wall with a bang and a little figure dressed in the light green pajamas appeared at the doorstep, sobbing and hiccupping. Aren kneeled on the floor, ready to hug the hysterical child. "Rik! Come to me, baby, what happened?"

Huge unfocused black eyes, filled with tears, looked at her from under a black curly fringe and the twisted tiny eyebrows. The little boy drew in a breath, obviously preparing for the next bout of wailing and suddenly noticed the second occupant of the kitchen. The round face froze for a second in a grimace that was both cute and pathetic… and in the next moment the toddler ran to Kyp, paying no attention to his mother's outstretched hands, and smacked into his knees, hugging them with all his strength and babbling incoherently. Kyp, more than a little perplexed, squatted before the boy, dislodging the tiny hands from his knees in the process, only to have them wrapped firmly around his neck, which was rapidly becoming wet from the child's tears. He hugged the small body instinctively, stroking his back soothingly and trying to understand what the boy was saying, but between the crying, the sobbing and the hiccupping he couldn't make out a word.

He looked at Aren, who was still kneeling on the floor with such an astonished expression on her face as if her son had turned into an Ewok before her eyes. "What is he saying?"

She shook her head, as if trying to banish a hallucination. "I'm not sure, but it looks like he had a nightmare. Something horrible happened to him and he says that you chased the bad thing away. The bad thing tried to kill him and you didn't let it."

"Oh." Kyp vividly remembered how he was awakened one night not long after his return from Kessel by a crying Jaina Solo who claimed that the 'dark one' was coming for her and he was the one to drive the dark thing away. He had to let her sleep the rest of the night in his bed, despite Leia's disapproval, because Jaina categorically refused to be parted with him even for a minute. The night horrors didn't bother them both for the rest of the night and upon awakening she didn't even remember them. He was strangely reluctant to part with her in the morning; somehow having her small warm form curled alongside his body gave him a sense of peace and contentment he didn't remember having since Deyer. And now this boy. _What's up with me and these children?_

He stroked the boy's wet curls, feeling the feverishly hot little body shaking under his hands. "Shhhh, Rik, don't cry. I'll protect you. I'll always look after you. There is no bad thing here, it's gone. Shhhh." He tried to send a reassurance through the Force, to calm the boy down, but he wasn't sure it would help. He didn't know if Rik was Force-sensitive. It seemed to work, though, the sobbing and babbling were gradually decreasing in volume and amount; the child's body temperature was returning to normal. Aren shook her head again, this time in wonderment, and stood up. She took a feeder bottle from the rack and filled it with water, adding some juice to it. Kyp, meanwhile, feeling that he would have better luck trying to stop Garos IV from orbiting the sun than to get out of the child's death grip on him, returned to the chair with Rik still firmly wrapped around him, wincing when his legs began to tingle and ache slightly.

Aren put the feeder on the table within Rik's grip, wiped the child's face with a tissue and sat back on her chair. "Surprised, brother?"

"Yeah. Although I probably shouldn't be. Women have children, it's normal after all. I just didn't expect…" he stuttered. "I mean…"

Aren just waived a hand dismissively. "I told you, a lot have changed." Her face softened when she looked at her son's dark head, tucked so trustingly under Kyp's chin, the black hair mixing together, almost identical in their shade and texture. "He is probably the only good thing out of all these changes. The only good thing that came out of my stupid marriage."

"Oh. You did say that you aren't Aren Segan anymore. So what is your last name now?"

"Denar."

"And…" he wasn't sure how to ask that question tactfully, so the rest of the phrase trailed off.

"He is dead," she said blankly.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet child's smell. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not." She met his surprised gaze directly, not flinching. "I didn't call it stupid for nothing. It wasn't pleasant, especially at the end and the only thing I regret is that I didn't have a chance to divorce him properly. Now I can't even return to father's name without a lot of hassle I can ill afford." She looked again at her son, who was beginning to snore quietly, small hands still locked tightly around Kyp's neck. "You know, this is the strangest thing I saw in my life."

"Why? I'm good with children, or at least Han says so."

"This particular child," Aren nodded toward Rik, "has never willingly touched another being than me in all his life. He is extremely wary of strangers. He doesn't even allow his grandparents to hug him, to their great dismay. And here he sees you for the first time in his life and suddenly he is dangling from your neck, ignoring me whatsoever. Can you blame me for considering it a wee bit unusual?"

He snorted. "Just a wee bit." Suddenly something clicked in his head. _I know it, I saw it in my dreams…_ "Aren," he began uncertainly. "Did you have people with some strange abilities in your family?"

She looked at him in askance. "Define 'strange'."

"Dunno. Anything unusual. Telekinesis, mind reading, heightened intuition… or even Jedi."

"Or seers?"

"That too."

"Then the answer is yes. Father's grandmother sometimes was able to see the future in her dreams. Father too. Looks like this gift tends to skip a generation. You think Rik saw something that will happen for real?"

"You have another explanation for this instant recognition?"

"Not right now, no."

"Me neither." He shifted Rik slightly on his lap and picked up his forgotten candy. _Definitely need another sugar intake after that. _"I'll check him for Force-sensitivity when he's awake. Until then… as long as we're talking about serious matters anyway mind telling me why you greeted me with a blaster in hand and what's going on here, sister?"

"Not now," she said firmly. "This is a good day, brother, one of the very few I've had since father's disappearance. I don't want to spoil it."

"That bad?"

"That bad. But later. It can wait. Tell me what your life is like now. Where are you living, what you are doing?"

That was easy. There was nothing in his current lifestyle he was ashamed about; it was all getting down to a rather simple routine. Yavin IV and the Jedi training; the philosophical disputes and petty squabbles of the Jedi Academy. The last was particularly entertaining, especially after he had to admit to his rather unconventional methods of earning money.

"…and then Luke said he'll pay me twice as much if I wouldn't do it."

Aren was dissolving in laughter by that time. "I would try to bargain more in your place."

Kyp made a sour face. "I tried. But he had said that I would never get any money out of Kirana Ti, so I had to resign myself to getting only one hundred sixty credits and not a trifle more." He sighed dramatically. "Not bad for a potential suicide."

She suddenly stopped laughing. "Are you serious?"

"About what? Oh. Force, sis, I was joking. Although if I really dyed her favorite battle leathers pink she would at least _try_ to kill me. She would have to, she has a reputation to keep, you know. Dathomiri witches aren't supposed to have a sense of humor as an obligatory virtue."

She shook her head. "You are crazy."

He laughed. "I believe that was what Han had said just before I talked him into letting me fly our stolen junkpile of a ship straight into the Maw Cluster. Quite a compliment, coming from him."

"That's about the tenth time you mentioned him. You really are close, aren't you?"

"Yeah." He smiled lopsidedly, without mirth. "A little too close for Leia's liking, probably."

"She doesn't like you?"

"She liked me after we met. Or just pitied me. But it changed, very soon. Not that I blame her: she just got her husband back, they had children who hadn't seen their father for something like all their lives, and there was I, a complete stranger, to whom Han was devoting entirely too much of his time." He shrugged. "She was ashamed she felt this way and was getting even more irritated because she couldn't stop. That was one of the reasons why I didn't dwell on Coruscant after Kessel. And of course me sending her brother in coma didn't help matters as well. But we're okay on the surface. She accepts me, if only because Han and Luke do. I still live with them when we have a break from the Academy. She warmed up to me a little when she realized that with me around they always have a babysitter."

"Speaking of babies," Aren said. "I think we can return Rik to the bed. And I'm sure you are hungry by now."

He smiled. "I'm always hungry. Clighal says that my natural growth was hindered by the malnutrition on Kessel and now my body is trying to catch up with its genetic schedule in whatever time I have left for growth."

She looked at him appraisingly. "And how much do you have?"

"Oh, at least three years, judging by average." He made a face, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "I really don't like being short. The doctors told me…" he broke off suddenly, realizing what he almost said and hoping Aren wouldn't notice his slip.

No such luck, of course.

"What did the doctors tell you?" she asked suspiciously.

He swallowed. "Later. Please."

"That bad?"

"That bad."

There was a real fear in her grey eyes. "Just tell me… It isn't something… life threatening, is it?"

"No. It's over. I'll tell you, I promise. Just not now."

She sighed with relief. "Well, I think you should take Rik to the bed. His door is the third to the right. I'll start a supper."

"Yes, ma-am!"

**

* * *

_Rann Na Móna, 7 hours later._

* * *

**

She woke up with a jolt. Her heart was beating wildly, as if trying to crush her ribs from the inside. Each beat reverberated with an acrid lump in her throat, making her want to throw up. In the first muzzy moments she couldn't even remember what kind of a nightmare scared her so much; three tearing breaths later she remembered.

She dreamed that she was alone again.

She dreamed that he didn't come.

This boy, as hard and beautiful as a dark corusca gem, this brother her father sent to her from his grave – he didn't come. She dreamed it and that was what made her to wake up gasping with her heart in her mouth. But he did, didn't he? Or… did she dream his coming? Probably her tired brain and her starved heart just constructed him, weaved his image out of the air? She wasn't sure what was a dream and what was real anymore.

The night was wrapping her in a thick shroud of uncertainty. It was all too familiar – the smells of the sea and earth in the gentle breeze from the half-opened window, the thick darkness of the last hour before a dawn, the whispering of the wind-ruffled trees outside; her bed, old, wide and comfortable, with the familiar smell of dried flowers she usually put in her linen chest. Not a thing changed; everything was the same. Usually this familiarity was comforting; now she was ready to curse it, because she wasn't sure if it wasn't yesterday's night anymore. Probably she just dreamed this day?

_Gonadh!_ she cursed vehemently. _There is one easy way to be sure – just drag yourself out of that bed, go to father's room and see if he's here! And if you are not sure then, Aren Segan, go to Keit and ask him to lock you in his clinic, because you are no good to your son if you are crazy indeed! _

Getting out of bed proved to be the hardest thing in her life, even harder than kicking her sorry ass of a husband out of her home. Her legs felt like the slabs of ice, cold, heavy and unresponsive. But she made herself stand up and put her nightgown on. Getting to the door was sheer torture, but she managed, with elaborate Seighne curses for encourage. After that, moving got easier and eventually she was almost running the last steps to the old carved wooden door.

She had enough sense left to open the door quietly; she almost sagged to the floor in relief when the first thing she saw was the soft yellow light of a child's night-lamp. Yes, he had asked her to give him some light because he didn't feel comfortable sleeping in the dark. "Darkness is for work," he said and she didn't understand this comment at all, but was willing to accommodate him anyway. So it wasn't a dream. Still, she wanted to be sure, or she wouldn't be able to close her eyes again.

Aren closed the door behind her and crept to the bed on tiptoes, soundlessly, bare feet habitually avoiding squeaky boards in the floor. Yes, he was there and she gave a silent thanks to the Great Mother – this time it was a real gift, not an empty illusion that deities of sleep were so generous of. Just a touch and she would be sure, absolutely, completely. Three steps more.

He was sleeping on his stomach, with his back to her, hugging a pillow, one long leg bent in the knee, the other stretched out. She couldn't see his face, but she could see his still almost hairless, thin, but firmly muscled arms, a wave of black curls falling over one of them and the pillow. The sheet barely covered his legs and firm small buttocks and in any other situation she would have blushed, but right now she wasn't thinking of the impropriety of her observation. There was nothing sexual in it; all she wanted was just to be sure, once and for all. Just one touch…

Her hand froze in the air, not quite touching his bare shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin layer of air. _Mother… _She didn't want to believe her eyes, but there was no denying it – the scars were too geometrically perfect and too plentiful to be anything else than what they were. _Tortured. Tortured, be it all damned, and not recently; these scars look old already._ Now she looked again, closely, paying attention this time and found more: a small circular ones on his arms and forearms, one as long as her small finger on his shoulder, right above the shoulder joint, and a slightly curved one along the last rib on his side. They looked relatively fresh, still prominent and slightly purplish, unlike the white and faded ones on his back. _This is probably his medical problem he didn't want to talk about._ Anger, her notorious Segan temper, was rising inside her like an acid wave; this body, so young and already so mutilated, was a cry to the gods and a reason for revenge for any mother in the Galaxy. _Breathe, woman_, she told herself. _In and out. In and out._

She didn't know what gave him away. His breathing didn't change, still rhythmical and shallow; he didn't move. Probably it was an almost imperceptible tightening in his shoulders, or just something in the air, but she was fairly sure he wasn't asleep anymore. She sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you up."

He rolled on his back and looked at her. The pillow left an imprint on his right cheek, which looked flushed from the heat; his lips were slightly swollen and pink and in the soft light of the night-lamp he looked all of fifteen years old. But he was staring at her with eyes that were entirely too coherent for someone who was just woken up in the wee hours of the morning. "Don't worry about that. What's wrong?"

She shrugged helplessly, a suddenly defenseless gesture. "I dreamt it was all a dream." She laughed shakily. "That sounds stupid. I dreamt you didn't come and then I awoke and I couldn't discern what was the dream and what was reality anymore. I just needed to assure myself you are not a product of my imagination."

He smiled and extended his hand, catching her wrist and tugging her toward him to sit on the edge of the bed. "We are a pair of sick banthas. I can tickle you if you are not convinced of my substantial nature yet." There was another scar, just under his collarbone. Also a fresh one. _How many more?_ she thought bitterly.

"Don't you dare!" She knew she had to play it easy, to dispel the tension like he obviously wanted to, but what was in her head and on the tip of her tongue now was neither light nor witty. In fact, she was surprised she was even able to remember such ancient invectives, but they matched her powerless fury perfectly. She swallowed and looked again at this young face with the eyes that saw too much of what they should have never seen. In this moment she hated the Galaxy.

"You saw." It wasn't a question.

She shivered. "Is it what I think it is?"

He smiled sadly. "If you think what I think you think then yes. A payment for a stupid careless mistake. Don't pity me. I deserved it."

"For sweet Mother's sake, what kind of a mistake can deserve **that**?" she almost shrieked.

He got up on his elbows quickly. "Shhh! Rik will hear! I told you, it was stupid! I let them down, all of them, and I was damn lucky Doole wanted me alive! It would be better for everybody if I died then, they would probably be free. Now they are all dead, including father, and all because I was a fool!" He said it in an angry, strained whisper, as intense as any shooting could be.

She couldn't believe it, even seeing the bitter fire lighting up his strange changeable eyes, making her remember her earlier comparison about corusca gems. He thought he deserved it? The idea made her sick. No one deserves that! No one! But to dissuade him she had to hear the whole story. Sleep was forfeit at that point anyway.

"Tell me," she said quietly. "Please."

He sat, drawing his knees up and hugging them tightly. "It's not pretty."

"Figures. I'm tougher than I look, you know. If you could live through it, I can certainly stand to hear about it."

"I was twelve," he began in a hollow voice. "Or thereabouts. It was soon after the Rebels freed some of our folks. They basically made a bargain with Doole, getting political prisoners as a bonus for taking out some real nasties from the Black Sun Doole had some reason to fear. They didn't get everyone, and a lot of us were less than happy with that arrangement. Can you imagine that? Our comrades, people who we worked, slept and ate with were getting out and we were left behind with a shining perspective to rot away the very short rest of our lives in the mines ahead of us. But at the same time it gave us some hope, some idea that it _is_ possible to get out of Kessel. Most of the prisoners were already broken by then, but there were still enough left who were willing to fight for their freedom. But we had to be careful. We knew we'd get only one shot at it, whatever plan we choose, so one wrong person to bring in and it all would be over. They brought me in only because it was physically impossible to exclude me – we were sharing a bunk with father, and everything else. And I blew it all up. Talked to the wrong person." He gritted his teeth. "He was so freaking _sincere, _kriffin' snitch! He bought me like a dumb child."

"You _were_ a child! Even by our standards!"

"There was no slack for children on Kessel! Grow up or die. I knew it. And dumbness was twice inexcusable." He wiped his face on his knee angrily in a strange cat-like motion. When Aren understood that he was wiping tears, he was already speaking again. "I felt like something wasn't right when he began to prod me about who else was on board. I clammed shut, but it was already too late. Doole wanted a show punishment and I gave him a perfect excuse. It would not be too bad if it was only my life at stake, but this darn Rybet decided to kill two mynocks with one blast. He was apparently aware that something was boiling in his pot, but had no idea how many people were involved or who they were. But it didn't take a lot of brains to guess who the major troublemakers were. Father, Vima, Cullen, Adol, Fost, a couple of others. And they all loved me. So he declared that this time he would spare my life, but the next time he heard even a whisper about escape or riot, I would be whipped to death. It was enough. No one even thought about escaping after that. Especially after that show he put on."

"The show?" Aren asked, dumbfounded.

"The whipping. Publicly, at the post, in best traditions of all sadists in the Galaxy. But this bastard he picked up for the task almost screwed up his best intentions. I knew he had a fixation on me, after some time in a place such as Kessel you begin to feel such things like a fly on your skin. But I thought it was… you know…"

It took her a couple of seconds to catch his meaning. "You mean he wanted you?"

He laughed. It was a very miserable laugh, and she thought that these two words should never stay together. "Oh yes, he wanted me. Just not exactly the way I thought. He was getting his rocks off on causing pain and he loved to hear his victim scream. And I didn't."

"Didn't scream?"

"Yeah. Hell if I know how I managed that. I was out of my mind from pain. He took my silence as a personal offence and worked himself into a rage. Doole had to shout at him three times to make him stop. And after that he locked me in the punishment cell. I don't know for how long, I got a fever and lapsed into delirium very soon. Apparently he did it without Doole's permission, so as soon as the Rybet discovered it they took me out and even charitably got some medications for me. I was in no use to him dead, after all."

"Is he dead?"

"Who, Doole? Yes, Han says he is."

"No, this scum who beat you."

"Oh. I have no idea. Doole booted him out of Kessel very soon, after he got drunk with the other guards and began to swear that he would make me cry one day even if he had to kill me for that." He shivered, as if something was crawling under his skin. "I think it was the beginning of father's downfall. Why you are not asking me how he died?"

She looked aside, not able to bear looking into his too bright eyes that were shimmering with flickers of yellow light in a moisture that refused to fall down. "It'll make it final… like a snap of a coffin latch. But you're right. I need to know."

"Don't worry. It was nothing like that. He just didn't wake up one morning. Died in his sleep. The best death you can have in a place like Kessel. I asked doctors on Coruscant what could be the cause; they said heart failure."

"And you are blaming yourself for that too. Can you just let it be? Our family, unfortunately, has quite a history for heart diseases."

He shrugged. "If I didn't put a good dent on this heart with this stupid stunt, he might have lived longer. He died just a couple of months before our escape. If he was alive at the time, we could have run together. And then he would have had all medical attention Coruscant could offer. And he would have been alive." He closed his eyes, letting the tears fall at least. "I didn't pay enough for that. I'm always getting off too easy."

Aren saw red. In the last moment she stilled her hand that was almost ready to slap him, strangling her natural reactions ruthlessly. It was worse than she thought, much, much worse. One wrong move or one wrong word – and she was afraid she would make the situation irreversible, push him even deeper than he was. She was far over her head here; it was a task for a professional, not for her. But she had one more question she wanted, no, needed, to hear an answer to.

"So what do you think would be enough?" she asked harshly. "Death?"

He shook his head. "No. It's too easy. I want to live, strange, but true. Even if sometimes it doesn't seem like the best idea. I survived Kessel, I survived… other things. There should be some purpose in it, yes? To make up, probably, for everything I've done. Luke says I have an enormous potential; I can be the strongest Jedi of our time. And I want to be. Maybe then I can do enough."

So he wasn't going to get suicidal on her. That was something, at least. Anything else could be repairable. She smiled. "I have a hard time believing that you're a Jedi. Not that I don't believe you, it just doesn't seem real."

He snorted and extended his hand. A towel that was thrown on a chair on the other side of the room rose in the air and flew into it. He wiped his face and gave her a tiny smile. "Real enough for you? Sorry I don't have anything more spectacular at hand, but I will be delighted to transport this abysmal construction you have in a place of a proper interdiction field into the sea in the morning. Why the kriff did you bother to construct something like that instead of repairing the field, if there is something wrong with it, is beyond me."

She sighed. "And that brings us to the subject I didn't want to discuss yesterday."

"Still don't?"

"No, but we have to. It's not something that I can avoid discussing. I just thought we should take it to the kitchen. I can use some tea and you need a breakfast."

"I see you took the idea of me needing proper nutrition close to heart," he smiled, with a real smile this time, showing a row of white teeth, two frontal ones slightly larger than others.

She stood up. "How much did you gain over the last year?"

"Five centimeters and ten kilograms."

"Not bad. But I'm still taller than you. Consider it an incentive. Kitchen in ten minutes."

His face was a study in obedience. "Yes, _seanna_! Of course, _seanna_! Without fail, _seanna_!"

She couldn't resist smacking him with the towel on her way out. _Imp. Mother, what he would be like if he had had a normal life?_

**

* * *

**

_**Rann Na Móna, 20 minutes later.**_

**

* * *

**

"So do you want the short version or the long one?"

He finished to pick up the last crumbs from his plate. Aren certainly could cook. "The short one first."

"We're losing Rann Na Móna."

He put the utensils on the plate, trying not to make a sound. "You've got my attention. Now the long one."

"Do you know why father signed up for this cursed tour?"

"He said he needed money at the time. He didn't elaborate on why."

She picked his plate absentmindedly and put it in the sink. "The 'why' is a long story. The gist of it is that the Imperial government was trying to put a pressure on the Old Clans. Successfully. They were smart enough to realize what our lands mean to us, so they raised the land-taxes. We still were fairly wealthy then, but father understood that our fortune would not be enough in the long run. So he took the opportunity to earn more. I didn't like it one bit and tried to talk him out of it, but you know what he was like when he got an idea in his thick skull."

Kyp snorted. "Yeah, I'm familiar with the picture."

"After he vanished… Gonadh, we couldn't even find out what happened to him!"

"They didn't tell you?"

"No. It was like he had never even existed. No information at all. But I guessed it had to be something about politics. Even if their ship was attacked by pirates there would be some information, about its disappearance at least. To tell you the truth, I was fairly certain he was already dead for quite a long time. That's why I risked naming my son Rik."

"It's far enough from Rurik to not taunt the Fate."

"There was a tiny hope that he was alive still. But I probably accomplished it nonetheless. When did you say he died? Year and a half ago?"

"A little more, yes."

"You see? Blast it, I shouldn't have done that!"

"Aren, this is ridiculous! It's a superstition, nothing more!"

"Don't see how it's different from you blaming yourself for his death." They sat in a sullen silence for some time. When Aren saw that he wasn't going to give her the ground she sighed and continued: "Anyway, Mika…"

"Father's cousin?"

"Yes, him. He helped me until I turned sixteen. He was still not married then, so he played a substitute father for me for those two years. We fend it off somehow and I even had time and money to finish the Academy. After that it became easier, financially speaking, since I quickly gained popularity. For a couple of years I was one of the three top-paid artists on Garos IV. Mika got married by then and had to tend to his own family. I was an adult, formally, and not his responsibility anymore; he had all rights to do so. But I was terribly lonely. So lonely that I made the worst mistake of my life and married Allt Denar. I was so smitten and so determined that I just closed my eyes and ears to everything and everybody that was telling me he was not a good choice for me."

"Why?"

"Why what? Why didn't I listen? Or why wasn't he good for me?"

"The second. Believe me, I can understand the first. Been there, done that, with the considerably more disastrous results."

She threw him a somewhat irritated glare. "On my scale it was quite disastrous. He was fickle, brother. No backbone at all. But as long as everything was nice and easy it wasn't particularly noticeable. The first couple of years were even fairly good. I was earning the money doing what I loved to do and he was basically lazing around adoring me. I didn't even mind his idleness, since he was always good in simulating activity. You know, the type that is always looking for a work, but doesn't find any because the pay isn't high enough for him or the work isn't creative enough or any other out of a multitude of reasons."

"Can't say I'm familiar with the type. I happened to spend all my life in places where you didn't exactly have a choice. You were working or you were starving. Or getting killed. But I heard about such people."

"Well, like I said, everything was fine for a time. I earned enough to pay the taxes and live comfortably. I even had some leftovers. At least I had enough brains left to save them and not invest in Allt's crazy schemes. But it all ended when I became pregnant for the first time."

"The first time?"

"Yes. I was twenty then. Of course I had to stop dancing very soon. I hoped that Allt would pick up the slack, but no such luck. But, as I said, he put on a good show. I couldn't find any way to make him take up a job; he always found an excuse, complaining that I don't value him high enough. We began to spend my savings. I gave birth to a daughter and she lived for all of three days." She closed her eyes. "I named her Claire and this was the only thing except her too short life that I gave to her – a name."

He took her hand that was lying idly on the table and kissed the back of her palm silently, squeezing her fingers gently. There were no words to comfort a woman in this situation, that much he knew. She returned the squeeze and opened her eyes. They were dry. "Thank you." They sat quietly for a couple of minutes, arms still linked, then she spoke again. "I was so depressed after that that I didn't pay attention to anything and missed a new raising of the taxes. The resistance was gaining power and the government was beginning to get desperate. It put a dent into my bank account, but still not enough to really alarm me. It was enough, however, to jolt me out of my misery and make me to take up my work again. But it was some months until I got back into the working condition and by then the season was already in full swing, so I couldn't get a full engagement. I was hoping to remedy that in the next season, but just before it begun I found out that I was pregnant again. It was incredibly careless of me, but I can't bring myself to regret it, despite all the consequences it brought."

Kyp remembered the small, warm, strong hands felt around his neck, the sweet milky scent of the baby's skin and smiled. Unlike many teenagers, he had a soft spot for children, that fact he discovered shortly after Han Solo introduced him to his offspring. He could understand why someone might be willing to sacrifice a great many things just for the opportunity to have a baby. "You shouldn't regret it. A new life is above everything else in the universe."

"Well, yes, but… I still wonder if losing Rann Na Móna because of it is an adequate payment. You know what this place means to me. Losing it is like losing a limb, or even worse."

"You'll not lose it if I have any say in the matter. Keep talking."

The words 'and what can you do?' were clearly written on her face in big bold letters, but, thankfully, she had enough discretion not to say it aloud. "Keeping talking. Well, by that time the word that I was having financial problems got out. When it became clear that I wasn't returning to the theater, I began to receive the propositions about selling Rann Na Móna. I rejected them all, of course. Most of them were from honest people who took 'no' for an answer, but one potential buyer proved to be far more persistent. He is a wealthy man, not to mention influential, and it clearly got to his head. He began to bother me in earnest. You see, he got the idea that our estate would be a perfect place for building a fancy night club, which, I think, is just a polite euphemism for a brothel. The powers that be want a secluded cozy place for relaxation close to Ariana. The fact that it's _Rann Na Móna _isn't stopping him at all. I suspect it's only adding to the allure." She shuddered. "Mind boggles. This man is completely unable to understand what this place means to the Seighne people, or he just doesn't care."

"Most probably the latter," Kyp said darkly.

"Yeah. By the time I understood he was quite serious I had to give up our apartment in Ariana, since I couldn't afford it anymore. We moved here. Allt didn't like it one bit, he was a very urbane person. No pubs, no nightclubs, no entertainment, none of his buddies around… just me and the necessity to work day to day just to assure our comforts here. He began to get difficult. He started to throw tantrums every day, refused to do anything around and pressed me into accepting Tarten's proposal. He didn't care about Rann Na Móna at all, he just wanted to have enough money to continue his easy life. I think Tarten promised him a hefty sum if he would persuade me to sell the estate. One day after the argument got even more heated than usual he raised a hand to me."

"What!"

"Yes. Hit me in the face. I guess it was a good thing that I never told him about father's little secret stashes and he was never eager to explore, because the next thing I knew I was looking at him over the barrel of DL-22. I told him he had two hours to clear my house of his presence. He did, but as a parting present he wrecked the control panel of the interdiction field. I didn't even notice that until a stray boetay almost had me for a morning snack. Tree days after that he got drunk with his buddies in a pub and began to shout for everyone to hear that he will make me obey his will. His friends who were still sober enough tried to calm him down, but others were cheering him on and encouraging him to take action immediately. So he got into a speeder, sloshed dead, of course, and took off. No one saw him after that. They only found some wreckage along the cliffs."

"I can see now why you don't regret his death."

"Yes. Luckily, Rik, as far as I can see, didn't inherit anything from his father except for his appearance."

"Huh? When I saw him I thought he's looking very much like his grandfather."

"We were distant cousins with Allt. Denars are a good family, I guess I was just dumb enough to get the only one _caora dhub_ out of it. He resembled father very much; pity that it was only a superficial likeness. Anyway, medical expenses after birthing Rik and taxes for the next year drained my finances completely. And Tarten realized that he can effectively prevent me from returning to Ariana and getting a job just by threatening to destroy everything that can be destroyed in Rann Na Móna if I'll leave it. Everything. He was quite expressive about that. He's sending his thugs here regularly. So far they haven't made any attempts to do any bodily harm to me or Rik; he knows that in this case he will really be in trouble. The Clans will not let something like that slip unpunished; blood for blood, the old law still stays. But he's not letting me be either, constantly keeping me on my toes, scaring away people who want to help me, threatening my friends who are bringing me supplies, forbidding the repair companies to send someone to patch up the field and repelling other potential buyers. I'm forced to keep a constant vigil here or give up, and I'll be damned if I give up sooner than the last possible minute!"

"You know," Kyp said musingly, "I can make him forget that he ever heard about Rann Na Móna or Aren Denar. No problem."

She sighed ruefully. "Even if you can do that…"

"No 'even if' about that. I can."

"Well, even then it doesn't clear out the problem with taxes. They raised them again this year, brother. We're having an economical uprising here, prices are getting higher and taxes go with them. With some leftover debts from the previous years it's making a sum I would not be able to pay even if I were working again. And if I don't pay it they will take Rann Na Móna anyway."

He raised his head, eyes squinted into tiny slits under unruly black bangs. "How much?"

She swallowed. "Almost twenty thousand… and less than three months."

"I'll find you the money."

She looked at him in disbelief. "You are crazy."

"Yeah, I think we already established that much. Your point would be..?"

"How for sweet Mother's sake are you going to accomplish that? By taking insane bets?"

He leaped to his feet, feeling his blood rising to his head with a roar. "I don't know. Yet. But I will. Losing Rann Na Móna is unthinkable. You are forgetting something here, _sister_. Since yesterday's evening it's _my_ home too and I'm _not_ going to be left homeless for the second time!"

Aren looked at him speechless, mouth open in an almost perfect O. This thought really hadn't occurred to her. She was so used to thinking she was alone with her problems that the idea that he could perceive her troubles as his own, not because of pity or out of duty or friendship, but because they really _were_ his as much as hers… it was liberating, if somewhat scary. He stood before her, legs braced, fists clenched, with such determination written on his not yet mature features that she felt a shiver traveling down her spine. She didn't understand it, and she might never do, but she knew, and now, for the first time, felt, that for all his deceiving teenager's frailty and the endearing beauty of his face this boy carried an enormous power within himself; a power that already cost a great many people their lives.

"Little brother," she said cautiously, "just don't do something stupid."

His pose lost its rigidity; blood left his face, leaving it even paler than it was before, giving a grayish tint to his slight tan. He unclenched his fists, looking at his hands as if seeing them for the first time and massaged his wrists, wincing briefly.

"Don't worry, seanna," he said, as serious and serene as an Ithorian priest. "I'm done with 'stupid'."

**

* * *

_25 ABY, 13.00, Police Headquarters, Ariana

* * *

_**

"Would it be sufficient if you just tell them that some Jedi assisted with this operation and leave it at that?"

"For some time, yes." The Chief of Police put his cup back on the table and locked his fingers under his chin. "Medics won't allow any interviews with the victims right now. But sooner or later they are going to talk, if not with the reporters then with a judge."

Kyp Durron's face looked like he had swallowed a substantial amount of ganno juice. "Any hope for a closed door trial?"

"Some. Since it's a crime against minors… with the right incentive, for example, if doctors would be kind enough to say that an open trial may be harmful to the victims' psychological well-being…"

The Jedi Master's face lost its sour expression. "Oh, they most probably will." Then the gloom settled back. "I suppose I will have to show up for the trial too?"

The Chief gave him a small smile. "Nobody can keep you here if you don't want to stay, and, taking your other obligations into account, I'm sure a written or recorded statement would suffice." He cast a glance over all present in the room – Kyp, Miko and Ivar, stopping his light grey, piercing eyes on each of them for a second or so and sighing heavily. "And you better think about what you are going to say, guys, and think well, if you want to keep this story straight."

Kyp's fingers tightened around his mug. "I understand."

"Boss had to know, Kyp," Ivar said apologetically.

"I understand," the Jedi repeated blankly.

"I will recommend to whoever will be the judge at this trial not to dwell on the details of the rescue. Unofficially, of course. That's all I can do in this situation. You better avoid showing up on Garos IV until this trial is over and done with, Master Durron, and hope that the boys will keep silence. As much as I understand why you did what you did, it's still a violation of the law."

Kyp raised his eyes from the mug in his hands. In the artificial light of the Chief's office they looked more brown than green; the light from above accented the dark circles around them and cast shadows under his cheekbones, making him look ten years older and very tired all of a sudden. "Yet," he said softly, "you are willing to cover it. Why?"

"Such a simple question," the Chief sighed, "but I'm not sure I can give you an equally simple answer." He fell silent for a minute, fingers drumming soundlessly on the surface of his table. "I'm a realist, Master Durron. Sometimes you have to choose between serving the law and serving justice. We renounced the death penalty on this planet in order to avoid making mistakes that cannot be reversed; I'm sure you know this. You had already been a citizen by the time this law was approved."

That drew a sharp look from the Jedi Master. "You have a dossier on me?"

"No. I just looked at your naturalization file this morning. Curiosity is my job, after all. Don't worry, this kind of information is still strictly confidential. No one without a high security clearance will be able to see who vouched for you."

"That's nice to know," Kyp murmured, looking not exactly relieved.

The Chief smiled. "Back to our topic. I agree that this law was necessary. However, in this case I'm absolutely sure that the guilty person was really guilty and that his death was the only way to avoid for this situation to be repeated in the future. Changing a sensible law for this one exception, though, would be a little irrational. I can only thank the Force that this was the first time in the last twenty years when something that odious happened on this planet. I hope it also will be the last."

The Jedi nodded grimly. "I hope so, too. He was one of the worst I saw in my life."

"And that really says something," Ivar drawled from the corner.

"We checked him through the interplanetary police network and found quite a lot. But let's talk about it later. I have to say, the way you handled this situation has me interested. Immensely so. I've never before thought of seeking a Jedi assistance with some of our problems, but now I see that it can be exceptionally useful."

"Please don't overestimate our powers," Kyp said, leaning back at his chair. His pose wasn't as tight as it had been just couple of minutes ago; he had obviously decided that the worst was over. "This was somewhat of a lucky coincidence. If Knight Reglia wasn't there, all my abilities would be useless."

"So what _are_ your abilities? I'm not asking about all of them," the Chief added hastily. "Just the ones that may be useful in our line of work. And tell me, please, which of them are common amongst your people and to what extent?"

The Jedi looked longingly into his empty cup. "Can I please have another caf? I'll need some fuel for that."

The owner of the office smiled. "Of course. Milk, sweetener?"

"Yes to both." They waited until the aide delivered the refill. When the thick double doors wooshed behind her back, Kyp spoke again. "To tell the truth, I don't even know where to begin."

"Let's begin with the yesterday's case. I understand that you are able to identify the location of a single person at a great distance?"

"Yes. But that is pretty much the same thing as with animals that are trained to find objects by smell. I need to 'sniff' this person or, more precisely, their unique presence in the Force in order to identify it. I would have been completely useless yesterday if Miko didn't feel the kidnapper's aura or if he wasn't able to give me an access to his memories."

"Can you recognize the person if you have some of his things in your hands?"

Kyp smiled. Apparently, the Chief took his analogy close to heart. "Sometimes. There are too many factors to consider. How personal is the possession? Did someone else touch it between him and me? How distinctive and strong is this person's presence? How much time has passed since he held it? And so on…"

"I've got the idea. But assuming you are able to familiarize yourself with this person's aura, what is your… working range?"

"It depends on the population density, mostly. On this planet… well, I'll not bet my ship on the accuracy of me finding someone around Zila, but Garan, for example, wouldn't be a problem."

The Chief looked impressed. "Forty kilometers. Not bad."

"Make it closer to sixty on this planet. For a precise identification."

"And for not so precise?"

"Here? More or less the whole continent."

Ivar whistled quietly. "But Miko said that his range is only a couple of kilometers."

"I also said that I'm not powerful, Ivar," Miko said quietly. Those were his first words since the introductions. "You're talking with one of the strongest Jedi in the Order here."

Kyp met the inquisitive look of the grey eyes calmly, guardedly. It was the truth, after all, and false modesty has never been his forte. But of course, his silent reluctance to go deeper didn't prevent the next question.

"Just how strong you are then, Master Durron?"

Kyp sighed inwardly. It was really a topic best left closed to outsiders, but he didn't have much choice now. 'Cooperation with the authorities' was one of the requirements in his citizenship petition and he did sign it, being perfectly aware of possible consequences. Miko straightened a little in his chair, and he could feel a tingle of guilt from his apprentice. It was indeed unusual for habitually very circumspect Miko to give an opening like that; but then, both of them were obviously not at their best today.

The Chief looked from one to the other. "Sensitive subject, I assume?"

"Kind of," Kyp smiled lopsidedly.

"I can guess why you may consider it sensitive." The man set straight, assuming a tight, almost rigid pose. "This meeting is completely unofficial, and, of course, you have all rights not to answer any of my questions. However, I want to say that this is not a mere curiosity on my part. You can be a great asset to us, Master Durron, and I would like to know what I can and what I can't expect from you. I also want to assure you that nothing of what you are telling in this room will go further than me and the Lead Investigator here. I'm also not into politics and I never allow any dirty games on my turf, if you get my meaning. Nobody will get this information from me."

Kyp looked the man directly in the eyes. The Chief met his gaze without any hesitation or uncertainty. He probed him lightly with the Force, surprised at the strength of this man's mental shields. Weak-minded he certainly was not. Still, Kyp managed to get a faint impression of his emotions; it appeared that the man was completely sincere at the moment. And he owed him, after all.

"We don't have any competitions, sir," he said quietly. "But if you are talking about pure power, I think I'm the strongest Jedi in the Order right now. I'm also one of the most versatile. It's easier to name the areas I'm not good in than the other way around."

"Which are?"

"Farseeing, mostly." Upon meeting the puzzled look, he elaborated: "Predicting the future. It's my weakest side. Energy absorption. Mechanics. Complex healing, although I'm good enough with the basic stuff. Communications with animals."

"That's all?"

"Yes, as far as I know."

"And what are you good at?"

Kyp smiled. "Everything else."

And so it went, for almost two hours. Question, answer; question, answer, like a quiz game he had to win without even knowing what the prize was. A headache began to spike in his temples and Miko, ever the sensitive one, smoothly turned the main flow of the conversation on himself, picking up the slack and giving his Master an opportunity to gather his wits. Which actually proved to be a very good idea. Something wasn't completely right with the man at the table, something was left hidden and unspoken. Not deception, no, but the Chief was certainly withholding something and this something was fairly important, at least from his point of view. He massaged his temples and tried to concentrate. He didn't want to mess up with this man's mind, but still, there were ways… Kyp was so intent on trying to get an impression of what this hidden issue might have been that he didn't notice a sudden lull in the conversation. Jolted back by the silence, he raised his eyes only to meet three highly curious stares directed on him.

The Jedi Master smiled faintly. "Sorry. I guess I'm easily distracted today."

"What is it, Kyp?" Ivar asked.

He groaned inwardly and set straight, quite consciously mirroring the rigid pose that the Chief assumed earlier. "Tell me, sir, does the honesty works both ways here?"

"Yes, of course. As long as you are not going to ask about some confidential information, I'm entirely willing to answer all your questions."

"What is your other reason for covering my… blatant disregard for the law, then? And why you didn't want me to know about it?"

Something gave way in the Chief's politely attentive face. Kyp sensed a brief flash of irritation, then some self-mocking amusement, then resignation. He had struck the chord here, definitely. After about a minute of a tense silence, the man relaxed and leaned back in his chair.

"I should have known better than to expect you wouldn't be able to notice," he said with a small smile. "Like I said, the answer is not simple and you would probably be less than happy to hear it."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Yes, I know. It's a long story, Master Durron."

Kyp looked at him unperturbedly. "I think we have time here, do we not?"

The man smiled again. "We certainly do. Well, to put it shortly, I'm very relieved that the New Order or, at least, you in particular, aren't willing to repeat the disastrous mistakes of the Old Order."

The Jedi Master exchanged glances with his apprentice. Both still remembered vividly what they had been talking about just a couple of hours ago. _Another coincidence? Somehow I don't think so,_ Kyp thought.

"Can you please elaborate on that? What mistakes? And how much do you know about the Old Order?"

"You would be surprised. My father was from Chandrila, Master Durron. He was a diplomat, and in the course of his work he had quite a lot of interactions with the Jedi. It was before and during the Clone Wars, in a wild and hectic time. A lot of struggles, a lot of unexpected situations, and most of them were strenuous ones. What he got from them could be most probably called a morbid fascination."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I chose these words deliberately. He was fascinated with the power they held in their disposal, but he was absolutely appalled with their attitude and the way they interacted with people. I mean the common people, not governments, not diplomats. Do you ever ask yourself why the Emperor and Lord Vader were able to bring them to the complete destruction so quickly and relatively effortlessly?"

Kyp smiled. "Yes, actually. Last time was this morning. I have some ideas, but I'm very interested to hear your take on the subject. The outsider's point of view and all that."

"What do you know about the early stages of training in the Old Order?"

"Which ones in particular?"

"Oh, I'm not asking about exercises, routines and other technicalities. Do you know in which age the children were brought in the Order?"

"Pretty early, as I remember."

"I think it's an understatement. Father told me that Anakin Skywalker was considered too old to begin his training and there was a lot of struggle about this issue. He was nine years old, I think. And already too old. They took infants, Master Durron. Babies. Toddlers. They took them from their families and raised them in their own surroundings, completely isolated of everything that wasn't the Order. According to them, a Jedi shouldn't have had other guides than the Force and his teacher, other rules than the Rules of the Order and other relations than his comrades. Probably from their point of view it was necessary, but can you guess what the results of this kind of upbringing were?"

"Yes," Kyp answered slowly. "I can relate. Somewhat. They were unable to understand the non-Jedi, and the other way around. No common points, no common frame of thinking… I guess no family connections also?"

"Yes. Marriages were forbidden, mostly. The Order was their family. They were strangers to everyone and everyone who weren't a Jedi was a stranger to them. When a government or military requested their services they did their work, but any contacts outside of that were accidental and uncommon. They isolated themselves, Master Durron. From an outsider's point of view, they didn't give a mynock's crap about anything that was less than some major planetary crisis. I'm completely willing to believe that a majority of them were nice people with good intentions; they just didn't know anything different than what they were taught. The exceptions were few and far between. That's why nobody was particularly concerned about their fate when the Emperor began to smash them. They were outside of people's lives. Strangers. Aliens."

Kyp and Miko were surprised. The man hadn't shown that much emotion since the beginning of their talk. Judging by Ivar's facial expression he was amazed too. His astonishment was so evident that the Chief stopped, as if suddenly remembering that he has other people as an audience beside Kyp.

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "I suppose I got carried away."

Ivar sniggered. "Yeah. It's nice to see you being so passionate about something that's not work-related, Boss."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Ivar," he said with a smile, leaning forward and placing his hands on the table, palms down. "But it is."

"Oh. How so?"

"What is our motto here?"

"To serve and protect our people," answered the investigator immediately.

"Yes. And the Jedi of the Old Order said the same, only they didn't. They were serving the Republic, protecting the government. Not people. What is the use of having so much power, of having the understanding like they claimed to have when it all got wasted, ultimately, in political games? I'm not saying that the politics isn't important," he added hastily, "only that it shouldn't be the focus. They forgot that they should serve _people_, that the power they had didn't come without certain obligations. Well, in the end, the people forgot them too and didn't lend a helping hand when the dark times came. So much wasted, so much lost. I can't help being bitter about that enormous loss. And that's why I'm willing to help you as much as I can, Master Durron, in any way I can.

"I don't know about other Jedi, but you in particular seem to be taking a course that's completely opposite to the old one. You are not removed from the usual circulation. You have a citizenship here; you have a family. Your upbringing was more than a little rough, but I think you've got some understanding of the lows and highs of the people's nature out of it. I know what you've been doing in the Outer Rim for the last year or so. You are willing to act on behalf of any being, no matter how poor or socially low he or she is. Serving and protecting. I feel certain kinship with you. You might have made a mistake yesterday, but it's a mistake that any one of us – me, Ivar and about a hundred other people currently present in this building, – would have made in your place. So I'm willing to give you the same support I would give to any of my comrades and I hope that in the future there will be more Jedi like you and that the mistakes of the past will never be repeated. Is that a satisfying answer to your question?"

"Quite satisfying, thank you." Kyp fidgeted a little in his seat, hoping that nobody would notice his uneasiness. For some reason it was unsettling for him to be discussed like that, but this was not a time for analyzing.

"Did your father leave any written accounts of his interactions with the Jedi?" he asked after some uncomfortably silent moments.

"Of course not. It was too dangerous at the time."

"Can you record what you remember of his stories?"

"You think you may need such an account?"

"It would be very helpful, yes. We don't have many records like that; I mean from outside sources, not the Jedi's and not the governmental ones."

"You think so? Wouldn't be better if you would be left to develop your viewpoint independently?"

"The idea has a certain appeal," Kyp smiled. "Is it why you were reluctant to tell me about it?"

The Chief nodded. "Mostly, yes. A negative preconception is still a preconception."

"I understand. But I'm afraid it's, unfortunately, already far from independent. It will be helpful to hear some different opinions on the subject."

The Chief thrummed at the desktop with his fingers shortly, then said: "I'll do as much as I can. But don't hold your breath; I don't have a lot of free time, so it may take a while."

"Thanks anyway."

"Don't mention it. Now let's return to our problems. Like I said, we checked this man through the interplanetary network. He has at least five documented murders – and they are not for the faint of heart, believe me - and fifteen kidnappings attributed to him. He was suspected in about seven other murders and five kidnappings, all under two dozen different names. We weren't able to determine whether any one of them was a real one."

"You may try 'Paflo'. It's the one he was using seventeen years ago, anyway."

"Oh. Thanks. We'll try it. Anyway, he was caught twice and both times he managed to escape. Quite a record, all in all. Which made me think about who could hire someone of his caliber to carry on this order, for it was clearly a specific order."

"I shouldn't have killed him," Kyp murmured.

"Don't be upset about it," the Chief smiled. "He most probably wouldn't tell us anything anyway. But his confederates did loosen their tongues considerably after we convinced them that their boss is dead."

Kyp perked at that. "They knew who their client was?"

The Chief chuckled mirthlessly. "Yes. They are such a lovely bunch of spiders. The one you caught in the shoulder… he managed to tape one of the conversations between his boss and the client. Planned to use it as a leverage if one of them would have wanted to get rid of him after the operation."

Ivar snorted.

"Yes, I agree, it rarely works. I think he actually thought of it as more of a post-mortem retribution. Anyway, once I promised that we would not return him to Bothawui, where he is desperately wanted for a couple of robberies and a rape, and where they _do_ have a death penalty, he became very cooperative. So yes, we've got the name. Problem is, well… look for yourself." He took a small datapad from the desk and quickly typed something, then threw it to Kyp.

The Jedi read it and his eyes widened. "I think I see your problem."

"I thought you would. We don't have any reliable unofficial channels of interaction with the Remnant. And the Governor refused to run it through official channels, which I can't actually blame him about. It can cause all kinds of unpredictable consequences. So, do you have any suggestions, Master Durron?"

"Strangely enough," Kyp smirked, "I do. But I'll need the proofs for that. Pellaeon will never believe it without a serious evidence."

"I'll give you encrypted copies of all the records. Anything else?"

"They may want to talk with you. Or my contact will."

"My private frequency number is on this datapad." Despite his calm demeanor, the Chief seemed to be disturbed by something.

Kyp looked at him inquiringly. _Is there something **more** in this bloody mess?_

"What if this will not work?" the Chief asked with an unexpected hesitancy. "Pellaeon may decide to just let it be, after all."

The Jedi Master took one last look at the letters and numbers on datapad and hit the erase button. "You know," he said conversationally, "for something like that I may be willing to forget that the Empire still has a price on my head."

The Chief smiled with relief. "Thank you. But please, don't presume that you're obliged…"

"My choice," Kyp interrupted him firmly. "And I'll let you know… whatever it will be."

"Thank you." The Chief stood up and extended his hand, letting them know that the meeting was over. Unsurprisingly, no one was willing to linger. Five minutes, three corridors and two turbolifts later Kyp demonstratively sagged along the wall of the police hangar and wiped the non-existing sweat from his brow.

"Force, and I thought I have a tendency for using long words and overcomplicated sentences!"

Miko smiled. Ivar laughed outright. "Yeah, I always wonder how he manages not to tie his tongue in knots. But he can use one-syllable words, believe me. Usually it's a sure sign that you shall make yourself scarce and work everything and everybody into the ground." He suddenly became serious again. "He is a good man, Kyp. He'll do what he said and more."

Kyp sighed. "I wonder how much time I have here. Aren will be royally pissed if I leave again after only a couple of days with them."

"The boys will be in the hospital and under protection for at least three more days. After that we'll see. But it might be better if you get out of Ariana."

"We didn't plan to stay here anyway. As soon as I get home, we're heading for Rann Na Móna. Want to come with us?"

"Are you sure? I mean, family time and all that…"

"It's okay, Ivar," Kyp said tiredly. "You're not intruding and I wanted to talk to you anyway," he smirked, deliberately echoing the policeman's words from the previous day, "in a more friendly environment."

"Deal. But not today. There is still a lot of work to do here. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is good." They shook hands. "See you."

The two Jedi sat in a tired silence all way to the apartment. Just before entering it, though, Miko spoke again.

"Kyp?"

"Mmmm?"

"Who do you want to hook up for that?"

The black curls shook with a quiet laughter. "It's really not a gravitational science, Miko."

"Well, you were saying that you didn't want to use the official channels…"

"There is nothing wrong with using the official channels, as long as you are using them unofficially." Hearing Miko groan in exasperation at this annoyingly cryptic statement he smiled mischievously. "Just who do you think was crazy enough twelve years ago to give a substantial chunk of money, without interest, I might add, to a seventeen-year-old teenager from Kessel without a credit in his pocket and with a mass-murderer reputation? Hmmm?" He held the door before his young friend, who still looked at him with the wide-open uncomprehending eyes. "Are you coming or are you going to stay here until you figure it out?"

"I'll be kriffin' dead by the end of this trip," Miko muttered, catching up with his Master. "From irreparable brain damage."

Kyp didn't bother to point out to him that there should be something there to damage to begin with. It would have been just too easy for a jab. A man gotta have some standards, after all.

**

* * *

Trivia:**

1. I assume that Kyp took Miko as an apprentice somewhere about 20-22 ABY. It's based on the fact that neither Kyp (except from one appearance in the 'Return To Ord Mantell' and, apparently, he was considered a rare guest during this time) nor Miko appear in the JJK and YJK series. I also assume that they were in this policing-avenging business for quite longer than Luke and Han assumed in VP. After all, for rumors to reach from Outer Rim to Senate on Coruscant they should have been doing far more than just bothering a couple of smugglers and for far longer than a couple of months…

2. Kyp's first visit to Garos IV happened slightly before COTJ. He took off Coruscant just before the Solos and Luke headed off to Ithor.

3. _Seanna_ – I bastardized Gaelic on this one. In Seighne it means 'old, venerable female relative', usually an oldest woman in a family. While it's technically correct for Aren, this word usually was used to describe grandmothers, so calling Aren, who is 24 y.o. at this point 'seanna' could have been used as a mockery. Or it can show respect. All depending on the context. :)

4. Rik is slightly Force-sensitive, even less than Tionne. But it gives him better than average danger sense, intuition and some Seer abilities.

5. The thing with Rik's name? It's a fairly common superstition in many cultures (and a tradition in some) not to name newborns after living relatives. The major belief is that in this case the older namesake will die soon.

6. _Caora dhub – _here we go once again with Gaelic. Just slightly warped this time. Means "black sheep". I'm too lazy to invent a fictional substitute, I guess.

7. Who was the one who ordered these kidnappings? One of the Imperial Moffs. I don't want to specialize which one, but I wonder how Moff Saretti got to be the Bastion Moff in his young age…


	8. Part 7

**Part 7** _**

* * *

Solo's apartment, Coruscant, 12 ABY.

* * *

**_

He knew, of course, that there was a chance Han and Leia were still on Ithor. But he didn't expect _that_.

"What do you mean, undercover?"

Winter was sitting on a pouf coach, calm and unperturbed as usual. "I meant what I said, Kyp. There had been some unexpected development on Ithor and they went to investigate. I'm not supposed to get in touch with them. No one is."

That was a low blow. Not only couldn't he talk to Han in private, he couldn't even comm him. "What about Master Skywalker?"

"He's out of reach too. He had had some visions and took off with Cray and Nichos. Nobody has heard anything from them since that."

"Stang," Kyp murmured under his breath. Winter lifted one of her white brows upon hearing the Alderaanian curse, but didn't comment on it. In fact, everything else he has been thinking of was absolutely unsuited to be uttered in the company of a lady. Even if the lady in question was Winter, with her habitual composure.

Kyp felt like a deflated gas balloon. For three days in hyperspace he had been rehearsing what he would say to Han and Luke, too wired up to sleep properly. He didn't even think of anything else, because he didn't have anyone else. He hoped that even if they wouldn't be able to help him directly, they would at least give him some advice, some idea who to ask or where to begin. But with them both out of reach, he was completely lost. The adrenaline rush that kept him upright evaporated in a blink of an eye and he sat heavily on the floor, suddenly too exhausted to even drag his body to a chair. He crossed his legs in ankles and hugged his raised knees, letting his forehead rest on them. "Great. Just kriffin' great. What now, genius?" he asked his own legs.

"Kyp?" a voice asked from somewhere. It barely registered in his tired brain. Then again, louder this time. "Kyp!"

"Huh?" he mumbled, not raising his head.

"You look like someone who hasn't eaten of slept properly for at least a couple of days," the white-haired woman observed calmly. "Get up and let's go to the kitchen. After the meal you can tell me what your problem is. Probably I'll be able to help."

He looked at her dumbly. Why didn't he think about that? With her experience, her multitude of connections with vast ranges of people and her unfaltering memory she most assuredly could help him. If she would only want to. Her calmness was contagious; he felt his agitated emotions settle down already. A meal was actually a good idea; some sleep would be even better one, but he was able to hold out for a while. He rose to his feet, leaning on his left hand with a habitual flinch.

"Still painful?" Winter asked matter-of-factly. Of course she noticed. She noticed everything.

"Not as bad as it was," he answered. "I'm much better now, actually. No painkillers for almost two months."

"Good. This is almost a month ahead of your schedule, isn't it?"

She remembered even that. "Yeah. Clighal helped me a lot with the healing trances. I'm almost back to a full functioning; it's just a residual nerve pain. She says it'll pass with time."

"How much time?"

"She estimated less than a year at this rate." He sighed. "I can't wait. At least I'm not looking like an extra from a horror holovid anymore."

She gave him a detached, appraising glance, and smiled briefly. "You look good. Come on. I think Han left some nerf and shroom steaks and honey wafers."

"The munchkins haven't eaten them yet? Are they sick or what?"

"They are perfectly healthy, thank you for asking." If he wasn't familiar with her sense of humor he might even take this phrase at face value. Her manner of delivering sarcastic comments with an absolutely serene expression was sometimes confusing. "Actually," she continued, "Han told me to leave this pack for you."

"That was very sweet of him." He tried his best to copy her blank look, with certain success.

She smirked, taking out food containers and placing them in the heater. "It's good to hear you joking, Kyp. For some time I was afraid this scowl would etch itself permanently into your face."

He shrugged. "It's a pain in the… errr… neck, having people think you are being arrogant or whatever when you're just aching all over. I started to watch my expressions after even Tionne had began to comment on that."

A mouth-watering smell of nerf steaks with gumes was already spreading in the kitchen of Solo's apartment. Kyp suddenly felt like his stomach turned into a bottomless pit, a black hole that was sucking him up inside out. He hated these tricks his body played on him: sudden fatigue in the most inappropriate moments; waves of dizziness that made him look for something to prop his body on, sometimes in the middle of exercises or katas; fits of hunger that frequently made him abandon whatever he was doing and go, no, run, to any source of food in a vicinity. No matter how many times the doctors and Clighal told him it was normal for his age and twice as normal for someone whose organism was repairing an enormous amount of trauma. He still hated it, however necessary it was. It made him feel vulnerable and out of control. It was the latter that felt most disconcerting.

Thankfully, the wait was already over. Winter placed a big plate before him and he all but fell in it, shoveling the food in his mouth with little regard for its taste. Winter shook her head disapprovingly, took out the second container and placed it in the heater. "Slow down, Kyp, you'll make yourself sick. You should know it by now."

"I ate some ration bars," he said defensively. Didn't he? Two or three, sure. That much he remembered.

"In how long?"

"I was in hyperspace for three days. It's not as I could have cooked myself a meal in there."

She snorted. "You can't cook anyway. Han told me about your last attempt at cooking. If I need to poison someone in a most painful manner, you'll be the first person I turn to."

His plate was empty. "Thanks. Nice to hear I can be useful for something." He smiled ruefully. "Destruction is what I do best, anyway."

That earned him a sharp look. "Spare me your self-deprecation routine, Kyp. I'm not judging you." She gave him the second serving. This time he was able to eat it properly, paying attention to the taste. Winter, meanwhile, started the caf-maker and took out the wafers pack.

"Where are the children?"

"Sleeping. It's twenty two hundreds already, Kyp."

"Oh." He looked at his wrist. "Guess I forgot to change the settings of my chrono."

She waited patiently until he finished with his food, completely comfortable in the silence. Once he got his first cap of caf and two wafers inside, she spoke again.

"So what is your problem?"

There was no use in trying to perform evasive maneuvers with this woman. "I need money, Winter. A lot of money."

"How much?"

"Almost twenty thousand credits."

Her eyes became round. "Yes, this is serious all right. Excuse me, but I have to ask. What for? Is someone blackmailing you?"

He gave her a twisted lopsided smile. "Not exactly blackmailing and not exactly me. Winter… I think you, of all people, will understand. Imagine if someone, by some miracle, gave you your home back. So you can feel it, touch it, walk in it, sleep in it. And then he tells you that if you will not pay twenty thousand, he would take it away. Forever. What would you do?"

She looked at him intently. "I would do everything to keep it."

"Exactly. But I don't have a clue where to begin. Short of going back to the Dark Side, I'm willing to do absolutely anything right now to find this money. I just have no idea how. I thought Han or Luke would be able to help me, but with them both gone…"

She swirled the dark liquid in her cup. "I know one man who might be crazy enough to help you. No guarantees, though."

"I'm not asking for guarantees. Who?"

"Talon Karrde."

"Oh." He didn't think about this possibility. He has barely knew the man, met him only once and that briefly. "But he's a smuggler!"

Winter's grey eyes flashed dangerously. "Do you want to get the money or do you want to make moral judgments here? Do you understand how hypocritical it sounds coming from you?"

He raised his hands. "Don't bite my head off. Force of habit. I know they are not all scum, I mean look at Han…"

She sighed. "Believe it or not it's not always what person does that defines who he or she is. Talon Karrde is a generous and decent man. He is your best shot in this situation. So you better stow this attitude of yours in your…" she stammered suddenly and he couldn't help but laugh, despite the seriousness of their talk.

"What it was that I had almost heard here, Winter?"

"Oh, shut up." She smiled. "I spent the entire war amongst the soldiers. Something was bound to sink in. Seriously, Kyp, you're making the same mistake here that people are making about you. Forget your prejudices. I'll comm him, see where he's now and if he's willing to talk. Go to bed, sleep, clear your head. I'll tell you what he has said at the morning. Unless it's very urgent?"

"No, I have more than two months left; I can wait until morning. Thank you, Winter. I would go crazy here if not for you."

"You are welcome. Now shoo."

He shooed.

She woke him up dreadfully early. Probably for the hundredth time he wondered if this woman slept at all; she was fully dressed, fresh, white hair twisted accurately in a simple bun. "Come on, Kyp, wake up."

He groaned in his pillow. "Just an hour more, Winter!"

"If you don't make it out now, the children will get up and then they'll refuse to let you go for three days at least. Not that I would mind to have some help, but I thought you have something to do?"

He hugged the pillow tenderly one last time. At that moment it was the most precious thing in the world. "Allright, allright. Just spare my modesty and go start a caf or whatever." _Five minutes. Just five freaking minutes more…_

She smirked. "Underwear, top… You are decent – by my standards. And if I leave you alone you'll just fall asleep again. Up."

He sat up in the bed and squinted at her. "Is it too much to ask for a cup of caf in the bed?"

"We're not _that_ close. But if you won't stand up now, I can promise you some cold water, strategically applied in quantities considerably bigger than a cup."

He gave up, throwing the covers off and sitting on the edge of the bed. His eyes felt like if he had been caught in a sandstorm on Tatooine. "Did you talk with Karrde?"

"Yes. He is waiting for you on Myrkr. I didn't tell him what you want to discuss, only said that it's very important to you."

"Thank you." He dressed up quickly. Myrkr. There was something up with this planet, he just couldn't remember what. Then it hit him.

_No Force._

Was Karrde taking precautions? It was probably a wise decision – from his point of view. From Kyp's, it was more than mildly terrifying. Even in the desolate darkness of the Kessel mines, the Force was always with him. Always. What it would be like to be without it? He shuddered, feeling wet coldness spreading down his spine.

"Kyp," Winter said quietly. "It's nothing personal. He's just restarting his base there. He specifically told me to tell you that. I know it must be upsetting for you, but you should either fly there now or wait for two more weeks. He can't change his plans because of you."

He shook his head, trying to dispel the queasy feeling. "That's OK. It may even be a useful experience."

"It may be. Their call sign is 'Forest Base'. They'll haul you when you get to the orbit; just tell your name. I packed some food for you."

"Thanks. But you didn't have to, I wouldn't get desperate even on ration bars."

"No need. Han left plenty. Hurry up, please, I need to erase all traces of your presence before they wake up, or Jaina will be in a funk for at least a week."

"You don't have to boot me out, I'm already gone!" On impulse, he suddenly put his hand on Winter's shoulder and briefly kissed her cheek. "Thank you for everything." In the next moment he was out of the door.

Winter followed him with her eyes. The boy had charisma to spare. It was a pity that his life has been so messed up, but if Talon agreed to help him, probably it would help to stabilize Kyp somewhat. He definitely needed some normality in his life; having a home would do.

She frowned. Her talk with Karrde was actually much longer than she told Kyp. Now, reviewing it in detail she noticed something that her sleepy brain didn't quite registered before.

Strange. She could swear that he expected such a call.

**

* * *

_Myrkr, Talon Karrde's base, 2.5 days later._

* * *

**

Aves was bored. Being stuck in a control centre with no one except a silent communication console for a company wasn't his favorite pastime. But someone had to do the work and right now there was no one else to do it. For some reason in the last two days Karrde sent out everybody who wasn't absolutely needed on the base. It was subtly done, and if Aves didn't know his boss quite so well, he would think it was a coincidence. He was smart enough, however, to know that there was little room for coincidence in Talon Karrde's life.

The boss was expecting someone. That's why he asked Aves, who, now, with Mara gone on her mysterious mission, was de-facto the second in command in the organization, to bear the mundane duty of a control officer. That's why even with most of their people gone, Ghent was still here, on the base. Whoever was coming, his visit was important to Karrde, at least potentially. It got Aves curious, but not curious enough to ask. Apparently, giving him an order to tend to the control room, the boss didn't plan for him to remain ignorant. So all he had to do was to wait.

The sensor panel beeped, indicating an incoming ship. Aves leaned forward, looking for an identification. It was one of theirs, the old Z-95 Headhunter, heavily remodeled and adapted for hyperspace jumps. Probably one of their people returning from a mission. He reclined back in his chair. It wasn't like whoever it was didn't know how to get to the base.

Fifteen minutes later he wasn't so sure anymore. The ship stayed on the orbit, not getting closer to the surface, as if waiting for something. Weird. Aves activated the inner comlink. "Boss, Aves here. Can you come to the control room?"

"I'm already here," the voice answered from behind his back. He heard a couple of almost noiseless steps and Karrde appeared behind his shoulder, looking on the identification display. "Haul him."

Aves threw him a surprised look, but did what he was told. "Z-95 Headhunter, this is Forest Base. State your identity and the purpose of visit."

The answer came immediately, delivered in young, male, slightly lilting voice. "Forest Base, this is Kyp Durron. I have an appointment with Talon Karrde."

Aves looked inquiringly at his boss. Karrde nodded and moved closer to the microphone. "Kyp, Karrde here. Follow the beacon. Someone will meet you on the landing platform. Forest Base out."

"Copy, Forest Base. Durron out."

The smuggler chief activated the beacon and turned to his subordinate. "Go meet him. If he'll want to clean up or sleep, give him a room. Be friendly."

"So _that_ is who you were waiting for?"

Karrde nodded. "Surprised?"

"Somewhat. What can we have in common with the Jedi wonder boy with an attitude, who despises smugglers?"

"Ah, so you've paid attention to Mara's reports. Good. To answer your question – nothing yet. This meeting is his initiative. But I have some ideas about Kyp Durron. Go on. I'll be in my apartment, if he wants to talk immediately."

Aves unfolded his long body from a chair and headed outside, shaking his head. Sometimes the way his boss was thinking was scary.

He didn't have to wait for long. A familiar forked silhouette shot out from above the trees and gracefully lowered itself on the platform some twenty meters from him with nary a bump. The boy definitely could fly. The bubble canopy opened, but no one came out. Aves frowned and went to the snubfighter, taking a lightweight ladder with him as an afterthought. He attached the ladder to the side of Headhunter and went up, wanting to see what was wrong with the pilot. With his height, it took him only a couple of steps.

The boy was half-sitting, half-laying in the pilot seat. He took off his helmet, but it was obviously the only thing he was capable of doing right now. His eyes were closed, lips pressed together tightly. In contrast with the black sweaty curls sticking to his brow his face looked pastel white. He was taking hard, deep, slow breaths, like someone who was doing his best to fight a pain or nausea. Or both.

"Durron?" Aves called, trying not to be loud. "What's wrong?"

The long black lashes moved and the boy opened his eyes. They were very strange; Aves never saw such a combination of colors before: dark, deep, vibrant green with a chocolate brown edging around the irises. "I'm fine," he answered quietly.

Aves snorted. "Like nine Corellian hells you are."

"I will be. Give me a couple of minutes." He mumbled something under his nose and closed his eyes again.

"What did you say?"

"I said I had never knew how much I was relying on the Force before."

"Oh." Aves finally understood. "I forgot. Should be tough, yeah?"

The two-colored eyes opened again, giving him an unexpectedly sarcastic look. "You never know how much the air means to you until someone takes off your breathing mask."

That was an interesting comparison. Aves suddenly remembered some other details from the file that was attached to Mara's report about her stay in the Jedi Academy. Kyp Durron was the youngest of all Kessel prison survivors. There were other children there, initially. He was just the only one who managed to live long enough to see freedom. This boy knew the meaning of the word 'tough'. Whatever it was, it must have been really bad to affect him like that. "Can I do something for you?"

"No. I'll manage." His color was already better and the face didn't look quite so strained.

"Whatever. Take your time. I'll wait for you down here."

It took the boy another five minutes or so. Aves, who was reclining in the shadow of the ship, saw Kyp getting down the ladder – much slower than he would have expected from a teenager. He stood again. "My name is Aves, by the way. Karrde said to give you a room if you want to take a shower or sleep for a while."

"Shower would be great, thanks."

"You don't want to sleep?"

"I don't want to stay on this blasted planet a minute more than it's necessary. Can you please find me some painkillers? Conergin or, better, gylocal."

Aves lifted a brow. Gylocal was a strong one and usually wasn't used for something minor. "No tranqarest?"

"It has a sedative effect. Gylocal hasn't."

_And you need to stay sharp_. "Gotcha." He opened the door to one of the free guest rooms. "Go take your shower, I'll be back in fifteen minutes or so."

He actually made it in ten, but Kyp was already out of the refresher by then, fully dressed in a clean flightsuit. He was drying his unruly hair – which was too long, by Aves' standards – with a towel. The smuggler handed him a small disposable injection device. "Gylocal."

Kyp habitually checked the dosage and gave himself a shot. "Thanks." He finished with his hair, raked his fingers through it a couple of times as a substitute for combing and turned to Aves. "I'm ready."

"We have Two-Onebee droid on the base, if you need…"

"No, thanks. This is nothing new, just the after-effects of a trauma. I usually use some form of Force intervention to counter them, but now…" he shrugged eloquently.

Trauma. That was a nice way of characterizing something that, if Mara was to be believed, was nothing short of extracting that boy's body from the postal capsule with a spoon. "Well, the boss is waiting for you. Let's go."

They didn't meet anyone during their walk to Karrde's apartment. Talon was obviously taking no chances with his visitor. Aves didn't quite understand this need for secrecy, but it wasn't really his business. If the boss wanted him to know, he would tell him. He entered the combination and the door to the smuggler chief's private quarters opened.

Karrde was sitting in one of the two big form-chairs near the small low table that had a pot of caf and all accessories that came with it. "Come in, Kyp. Aves, you can return to the com center."

Aves nodded curtly and disappeared. Kyp continued to stay just inside the door, fidgeting from one foot to another. Karrde gave him an once-over. The kid was looking much better than the last time he saw him, fresh out of Manarai Medicenter, but it would be hard to look worse than he did then. However, he suspected that in this moment the young Jedi would rather gladly return to said medicenter than to have this talk. Which meant that it was something even more significant than he thought. He sighed inwardly. With all their good intentions, both Skywalker and Solo were incredibly careless when it came to this boy, which already led to the dire consequences once. Someone had to take care of the situation and it seemed like the Universe decided he was just the man for the job. Well, it wouldn't be the first time. If everything would go according to his plans it could even be extremely profitable. He didn't regret taking Mara in, after all.

"Kyp. Contrary to whatever preconceptions you may have, I don't bite. Come in. Sit."

The boy obeyed, still extremely tense. Talon briefly wondered how he was managing to look tense in a form-chair, but that was beside the point. He took the pot, took his visitor's cup and begun to pour caf. He added cream to it – third part out of the full volume - and three spoonfuls of sugar, just like Solo was ordering for the boy in the medicenter, and slid it to Kyp. As a hint, it wasn't exactly subtle, but it was the first test. _Let's see how he'll react._

The boy looked up with an eerily familiar lopsided smile. "Not subtle. At all."

Point one to Kyp Durron. Talon was glad not to be disappointed.

He smiled. "Drink. I think you already gathered that I know enough about you to not believe for a moment that you came here to ask for something unimportant. Whatever it is, spill it out, please."

The boy lowered his eyes again; two bright red spots flared to life on his cheekbones. "I need money."

Just as he expected. "How much?"

"Almost twenty thousand."

Well, _that_ was a surprise. Twenty thousand was the sum that the New Republic promised for his head just a couple of years ago. Not something trivial, indeed, even taking the inflation into account.

"Blackmail?"

Kyp licked his lips nervously. "I know it's the first guess in such a situation and you may not believe me, but no. It's a price I have to pay in order to keep some property that's extremely important to me and the people I care about."

"Personal debt or tax problems?"

"Tax. Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters. You can pay a debt once and forget about it. Taxes are another thing."

"Oh." The boy looked frightened now. He probably feared that Talon would use this as an excuse for a refusal. There was a real desperation in his eyes, which began to look disproportionally huge on the thin face. "I have only two months or so now. After that I'll have a whole year to think of something else."

Karrde rose from his chair. It didn't really matter, after all. He made his decision as soon as Winter called him. It was a hefty amount, but potential profits were far more promising, and it wasn't the first business risk he took in his life. He walked to his computer and inserted an interchip into it, then typed down the password and the numbers, feeling Kyp's anxious gaze on his back. He smiled to himself in anticipation of the boy's reaction, then took the small device out and walked back to the table, dropping the interchip on Kyp's lap negligently. "Twenty five. Just in case."

_If it was physically possible to fall out of a form-chair,_ Talon thought, _that certainly would have done the trick. _

"Wwwwhat?" Kyp stammered. "Why?"

This time Karrde smiled openly. "Good question. I'll explain why in a couple of minutes. This money is yours, Kyp, I'm not taking it back in any case, but this talk is not over, as far as I'm concerned. I would suggest you listen to what I have to say."

The young man nodded quickly, distractedly. "Sure."

"Kyp, I don't want you to hear me. I want you to listen. So, forget about this problem of yours for the moment. Relax. Pour yourself another caf. Want something to eat?"

"Like you don't know that. Why did you bother to collect data on me, by the way?"

"I'm collecting data on everybody, Kyp. Information is my major trade. And you, whether you like it or not, aren't exactly somebody insignificant. I like to know about the people who can be a great trouble – or a great asset." He busied himself with the synth unit, letting the young Jedi digest this statement.

The boy kept silence. Point two to Kyp Durron. He was willing to wait and see what Karrde had in stock for him instead of jumping the blaster with the questions. Apparently, all this sordid adventure did teach him something, because before he hadn't exactly been known for his patience. Karrde made two servings of skillet-roe, in deference to his guest's tastes. He, personally, didn't like fish.

Kyp devoured his portion in record time. Karrde, who barely touched his, looked at him, amused. "Tell me, can you really eat a whole neuvian sundae in less than ten minutes?"

The teenager nodded sheepishly. "Han told you? They let me have the second one free in this restaurant. Said it was the first time in their experience."

"You ate the _second_ one?"

"Not without some difficulty. I had to refuse the third, although my heart was bleeding," Kyp smirked.

"Hmmmm, I think this synthesizer is up to the task. Want one?"

"No, thanks." He pushed the plate aside. "Let's get this talk over with, sir. I'm not exactly comfortable on this planet."

"Forget 'sir'. You can call me Karrde. Or Talon." He wiped his mouth with a tissue. "Tell me, what are you going to do to solve this problem next year?"

The boy frowned. "I don't know. I mean, I need to earn money somehow, but… I'm not sure if I can take a work. I'm a Jedi and I don't want to abandon this. Master Skywalker says we can't become full Jedi without dedicating almost all our time to it…"

"Kyp," Talon interrupted. "I hope you do understand that with all his wisdom, Master Skywalker's views may not be the only truth in the Universe?"

"What do you mean?" the young Jedi asked warily.

"I mean that Luke likes to pretend that you're living in an ideal world. Like the Academy is all you need in this life. But it's not true, for anybody with lesser amount of idealism than he has, anyway. It was probably fine for the Jedi of the Old Order, with their almost limitless resources, but you are different. Something like this situation was bound to happen and I was almost sure it would happen to you."

"To me? Why?"

"You are the most vulnerable of all Skywalker's students. Others are adults; they have or had established lives, friends, family or community connections. Jobs, after all. Or NR veteran pension, like Skywalker has. In some cases, as with Streen or Kirana Ti, they don't need money, because their outlooks and interests are very different from the average people. But you are another story. You don't have money, you don't have family, you have almost no experience of living in a normal society and you don't have any friends except for Luke and Han. You are still underage on the majority of the NR planets, which closes a lot of legal paths for you, you don't have citizenship that would give you some semblance of a legally recognized protection and you don't have a guardian who would be officially in charge of your life. You have a dreadful reputation and you don't have any professional education, Jedi training notwithstanding. And with all that, you're not removed from usual circulation, as, for example, the hermit Streen, who, by the way, always can return to his gas mining if the mood strikes. Not to mention your temperament."

"What's wrong with my temperament?" the boy asked petulantly.

The smuggler noticed that Kyp didn't even try to contest the rest of his statements. Good. Nice to see he could be realistic. "Nothing per se. You just need a lot, and if you don't now, you will soon. You have to live your life at full swing, no half measures, it's just who you are. I don't expect you to understand it right now, but you're a disaster waiting to happen, Kyp." He raised his hand to forestall the protest that was almost ready to fall from Kyp's lips. "It's not an offense, by any means. It's just a fact. Sooner or later, you were bound to need something you had no means to obtain. And Han or Luke wouldn't have been any help. Do you realize, for example, that the Headhunter Han gave you belongs to me? Solo doesn't have much beside his beloved hunk of junk and NR general's pension."

"I wondered why it's so similar to the one I stole from Mara," mumbled Kyp.

"I hope this one is in a better shape than hers was when you returned it," Karrde smiled.

Kyp had good sense to blush. "I'm sorry."

The smuggler made a dismissing gesture. "I think Mara's hostility is enough of a penance for that. Don't expect her to forgive you any time soon, by the way."

The young man shrugged. "I don't. At least she is not trying to kill me, as far as I know."

Point three to Kyp Durron. Never presume you know something for sure when you are dealing with Mara Jade. Talon learned this lesson in the detention cell on the _Chimaera_. This boy was definitely worth the trouble.

"Back to the point," he said. "When I said that you're a disaster waiting to happen I meant that you're a perfect object for manipulation or blackmail. In any area, your fighting abilities not counting, you're absolutely defenseless. I don't like this thought at all. So I have a proposition." He emphasized the point by capturing Kyp's stare and holding it for a minute in a tense silence.

"Am I a charity case for you?" the boy asked tartly.

"I don't do charity. Ever. Everything I do I do for a profit. And to have a profit I need the Galaxy to stay more or less stable. That includes not having someone like you making some rash decisions because another someone found a button to push."

"Why can't you just say it straight? You don't want me running around blowing up planets," Kyp said bitterly. "You may quit worrying. I'm not going to turn to the Dark Side again."

"Kyp. Your turning to the Dark Side is not my major concern, believe it or not. I'm concerned about much more mundane things. Like this." He pointed at the pocket where Kyp put the interchip. "Anyone can be imprudent when desperate. If I refused to give you the money, what would you do? Think about it."

The boy had sat quietly for a couple of minutes, then sighed. "I see," he said wearily.

"I knew you would, you aren't stupid. So. You're not a charity case for me, far from it. I think both of us can be benefited here. I'm offering you a place in my organization. As a full member."

"What!"

"What's so surprising? In a last couple of years I realized that it could be extremely handy to have a Jedi around. Mara, unfortunately, is estranged from the organization right now and may continue to be so for a long time. Not to mention that she has a lot of other important work to do. And I need some Jedi input or intervention from time to time."

"But I can't…"

He really managed to confuse the boy. It wasn't exactly a good thing, taking Kyp Durron's aforementioned temperament into account. It was time to clarify.

"I'm not asking you to quit the Academy, Kyp. You're a Jedi and I respect that. I don't expect you to contribute on a day-to-day basis. You still will be able to spend most of your time on Yavin IV."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing that Skywalker wouldn't approve of. Information gathering, first of all. Sometimes I just need to know if my contact or business partner is trying to deceive me or has some hidden agenda. Rescuing operations. My people are bound to get into tight spots from time to time. Han says you're one of the best pilots he's ever seen. That's quite the recommendation. I can use these skills of yours too. And, last but not least, sometimes I need an inconspicuous, but highly effective bodyguard who can protect me without making a bloodbath out of a situation. How does that sound?"

He patiently waited for the answer. He didn't have any illusions about desirability of working for his organization. Many beings in the Galaxy would be happy beyond belief to receive such an offer from him. But this boy wasn't an average being and Karrde didn't believe in a power of persuasion when it came to the potentially long-lasting relationships, business or personal.

At last the young man straightened in his chair. "Sounds acceptable. But what if Master Skywalker won't approve?"

Talon knew that it was not the appropriate time to tell the youngster he shouldn't build his life around Luke's approval or disapproval. Kyp would understand it soon enough on his own. Right now, though, Kyp Durron was Luke Skywalker's student, with all the obligations that came with this fact.

"I'll talk to Luke. I think he'll understand. Now let's talk about what you can have from this arrangement."

"You mean, besides money?" Kyp asked incredulously.

"Yes. First of all, I forgot to mention that I don't want anyone to know you're working for me. Luke will, of course, and two of my people – Aves and Ghent. You can tell Han, if you want to, but I don't see any need in him knowing."

"What about Mara?"

"Do you really want her to know?"

Kyp shuddered. "Force no! She may think I'm trying to take her place or whatever…"

"Exactly. I'll take care that you'll not be present at the same time at the same place. But that's not all. You'll need some education in rather… unconventional subjects."

"As is?"

"Changing your appearance, from a light make-up to a semi-permanent professional level camouflage, for one. I know some places where you can get such services quickly and discreetly, but you have to know how to do it by yourself too. Establishing false identities and avoiding officials' attention – without the Force. Standard and not so standard smugglers' and pirates' tricks and weapons. Affiliations between groups and key individuals. Basic slicing. I think it'll be enough for the beginning."

"Wow," Kyp breathed. "You don't believe in earning money the easy way, do you?"

Karrde flashed him a smile, teeth looking startlingly white against his black beard and moustache. "Relax, it's easier than telekinesis. From my point of view, at least. You'll also gain the same level of protection I'm giving to all my people, which means that if you ever get into a trouble, the organization will help with whatever means are required. And mission expenses are covered, of course, although I wouldn't advise you to acquire extravagant tastes."

Kyp snorted and asked: "When do you want me to begin?"

"Take care of your business first. Oh, and by the way, I need this Headhunter back. Aves can give you a ride to anywhere you want, he's due to make a supply run the day after tomorrow anyway."

"Two days?" the boy looked terrified. "But…"

"You can take the Headhunter and go into the orbit, if you prefer, Kyp. But we need to do something else before you can leave this base."

"What else?"

It didn't take much to get the boy tense and wary again, Karrde noticed. "Other identities. Identification cards. Bank accounts. Credit chips. You'll need all that and more. It's a good thing that all the information on you was tightly closed. Everybody knows your name, but very few know your face. Try to keep it this way. Less hassle with disguises."

"Oh." Kyp's face lightened up. He, apparently, relished the opportunity to drop his entirely too known name. Nothing surprising; Talon would want this too in his boots. "Can I pick the names?"

"Of course. You have to be comfortable with them, so choose carefully."

The boy didn't think for long. "Rodion Segan. And Zeth Fost."

"Allright. We'll have to add a few years to your age. Say, nineteen. You don't look older than that, unfortunately." Karrde activated the comlink. "Aves, Ghent, to my apartment, please." He turned back to Kyp. "If you want to rest, go on. Just stay on the orbit."

Kyp swallowed hard. "Actually… I would like to stay here."

The smuggler was surprised. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I need to learn how to deal with this. Better now than…"

_Than when someone will manage to catch you with an ysalamiri. _Karrde's opinion of this kid rose for another notch. "Well, I hope you can find your way back to the room Aves gave you."

"Yes, no problem."

"There should be a synth unit there and everything else that's needed for comfort. Try to sleep, you will be very busy soon. And don't wander around the base. I don't want anyone but Aves and Ghent to see you."

"Understood."

"Great. Go on."

Three minutes after Kyp had left, Aves and Ghent appeared in the doorway. Karrde lifted his pale blue eyes from the datapad and leaned back in his chair. "Sit. I just offered Kyp Durron a place in our organization. As a full member."

Ghent just looked at him as if he wanted to say 'so what?' The smuggler chief hid his smile. The only thing that could ever shake the young slicer would be a destruction of the Holonet computer network. He didn't care much about anything beside his beloved computers and the next challenge. Aves, however, was able to understand at least some implications of this decision.

"Did he accept it?"

"Yes. Even less reluctantly than I expected. Now listen, guys. You two are the only ones who will know that he's my employee."

"Not even Mara?"

"Especially not Mara. Take care of that, please. Ghent, I have some names for you. Zeth Fost and Rodion Segan. I want you to check for any possible connection between someone with this first or last name and Kyp Durron. Well, Zeth, actually, is easy – it's his brother's name. But check all others. Any connection and any information you can find on these people, if they exist."

Ghent shrugged. "We have all the archives from Kessel. Shouldn't be tricky."

"Well, if you are worried about getting bored you can try to track down the Deyer archives. Common knowledge is that they were destroyed. Let's see if it is really so. Aves, did you download the logs from the Headhunter's navicomp?"

The smuggler's long face assumed somewhat offended expression. "Of course."

"Give them to Ghent, let's see if there are any correlations there. Next. We need to establish two identities for him. Full work from the ground up. Use these two names. Everything, including pilot's licenses and bank accounts. Put a thousand credits on each."

Aves whistled. "You are blowing all engines here, boss. You think he'll be _that_ valuable?"

"Yes, I suspect so. Solo speaks very highly of him and I haven't seen anything that would contradict it so far."

"Oooookey. Do you want to use the disguises for these identities?"

"No. His face is not known, fortunately. Let's keep it as uncomplicated as possible. Ghent, comm me when you'll have some results. Aves, I sent Kyp to his room to rest and pretty much forbade him to come out, so check up on him in a couple of hours. That's all for now."

Ghent commed him less than an hour later. "Listen, boss, I've got something here. I would even say a big chunk of something. Wanna see?"

"Of course. See you in five minutes."

"No need. I can transfer all files to your computer. Wait a minute."

Karrde surveyed the documents that popped up on his display. Ghent was right; it was important. Both last names the young Jedi gave him belonged to Kessel inmates. No surprise here. Both of them were dead. Not exactly unexpected too. But the man by the last name of Fost died a good five years ago. The second one, on the other hand… yes, less than two years. And, of course, the fact that Kyp's first solo trip after this awful mess with Sun Crusher was straight to Rurik Segan's home world wasn't accidental. And after spending less than three days on Garos IV, he made a dash first for Coruscant and then to Myrkr. So, that was where his 'problem' was happening. Talon drummed his fingers on a table desk and activated the comm. "Aves? I need you to see something."

His current second-in-command wasn't a brilliant thinker, but the files didn't require any explanation. "I told Kyp I need the Headhunter back and that you would take him to whatever place he wants. Chances are he won't even try to confuse us and pretend he's heeding to any other planet. But even if he will…"

"…go to Garos IV and sniff around anyway. Got it."

"Be discreet. I don't want Kyp to understand exactly how much we know about him, at least yet. But I have to know. He's volatile enough as it is, without any potentially explosive hidden surprises in the package."

"I can't agree more. You know, boss…" Aves absently rubbed his brow, trying to find the words, "I'm not sure that this is one of your best ideas."

"We'll see."

"Yes, we'll see. But I'm glad you did it. I like this boy." He chuckled. "And you can say whatever you want about the profit you can make out of him, but the truth is you just can't resist adopting another stray."

"Those two things aren't mutually exclusive, Aves," Karrde answered with a completely serious face.

Three weeks later Aves returned from his run. He gave him a standard written report, of course, but Karrde was much more interested in the stuff that was left unwritten.

"Well?" he asked after both of them had got comfortable in chairs with caf and brandy.

"Well, you were right, boss. This boy is full of surprises."

"So you did find out something interesting?"

"You can say that again. Not on Garos IV, though. The Wonderboy very pointedly waited for me to get back in the ship and take off, so I returned there a week later. Did a little checking, a little snooping around…"

"And?"

"Pretty much what we thought. The estate that belonged to Rurik Segan, currently in possession of his daughter, was one blink from being sold to compensate tax debts. In addition, some snerp who wanted to buy it was severely bothering her. Three days after Kyp had returned from Myrkr, the debt was paid and the guy who was giving her trouble suddenly changed his mind and called his thugs back, much to their astonishment, since he was hell-bent on acquiring it for two years. I just bet it required some hand-waiving."

Karrde snorted. "He can consider himself lucky. From what I heard about Durron's abilities he could had left him as a mindless vegetable."

"What?"

"According to Luke and Mara, this boy can do pretty much everything he wants with people's minds. Including complete control and complete destruction." Karrde looked at Aves who wasn't able to suppress a shudder. "Terrifying, yes. Good thing that he seems to be very careful with this ability."

Aves gulped down his brandy. "You know, boss, I probably could have lived without this information. Anyway, that's not what I meant by 'interesting'. I tracked down some survivors from the Kessel prison. One of them was raving mad, but two others proved to be useful. One of these two had even been in the same unit with Kyp for some time, before Antilles got him out with others. Want to listen to what he told me?"

"Sure."

Aves took the secretary recorder out of his pocket, placed it on the table and hit the play button. The first voice was immediately recognizable – it was Aves' own voice.

"So what can you tell me about Kyp Durron?"

The second voice was old and hoarse. "The musician boy?"

Aves' voice on the tape sounded surprised. "Who?"

"The musician boy. I don't remember anyone else by the name of Kyp. He was about ten or eleven at the time, black curly hair, dark eyes, pale skin, kind of pretty, right?"

"Yes."

"So it's him. He's alive?" Pause, then surprised exclamation: "Byss' Blind Eye! I never thought he would survive. Such a spitfire, he was bound to slip sooner or later and get himself killed, never mind his attempts at appearing invisible and Rik's immunity…"

"Rik's?"

"Oh, Rik Segan. The old labuh. He was very protective of his boy…"

Karrde stretched his hand and hit the stop button. "I'll listen to it later. I think I've had too much brandy right now."

It was an excuse and Aves knew it. The boss wanted to listen to this alone, without having to hide his reactions. "I thought you would like to. Do you think we should try to track others? Probably they'll have more recent information."

"You do it. And tell Ghent to concentrate on the Deyer archives. This is becoming more and more interesting, indeed."

**

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**

_**Rann Na Móna, 25 ABY.**_

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* * *

**

The big grey boulder drew him to itself with enough strength to supply a modest tractor beam. Miko slid his hand along the surface; it was shaggy, but pleasantly so. Despite the relatively early hour, it wasn't as cold as he would have expected it to be, and slightly damp from the morning dew. Opalescent morning sunlight had brought out the multitude of tiny glittering impregnates from the grey background and now the old stone was winking at him by the thousand shiny eyes with each little cloud passing through the sky. On impulse, Miko leaped on it, landing smoothly as a cat on the top and sliding into cross-legged meditative posture in one fluid motion. He closed his eyes, letting the sunrays to pour over him, filtering through his closed lids into that indescribable pink-gold pulsing color that always strike him as a wonderful embodiment of vitality. _You want to see the perfect color?_ Miko smiled to himself. _Close your eyes._ That really seemed like something Master Skywalker would say and the corners of Miko's long, curved lips lifted into a smile. There was a time when he disliked such word riddles with all the uncompromising teenager's passion he could muster. How things can change in just five years or so…

The big grey boulder drew him to itself with enough strength to supply a modest tractor beam. Miko slid his hand along the surface; it was shaggy, but pleasantly so. Despite the relatively early hour, it wasn't as cold as he would have expected it to be, and slightly damp from the morning dew. Opalescent morning sunlight had brought out the multitude of tiny glittering impregnates from the grey background and now the old stone was winking at him by the thousand shiny eyes with each little cloud passing through the sky. On impulse, Miko leaped on it, landing smoothly as a cat on the top and sliding into cross-legged meditative posture in one fluid motion. He closed his eyes, letting the sunrays to pour over him, filtering through his closed lids into that indescribable pink-gold pulsing color that always strike him as a wonderful embodiment of vitality. Miko smiled to himself. That really seemed like something Master Skywalker would say and the corners of Miko's long, curved lips lifted into a smile. There was a time when he disliked such word riddles with all the uncompromising teenager's passion he could muster. How things can change in just five years or so… 

Slipping into meditation was effortless, more effortless than usual, and pleasant, as if it was something as natural as breathing. He was the rock and the rock was him, he was everything and nothing, breathing and living in the hundreds of bodies, big and small, intelligent and not. He heard a sound and he wasn't sure who made it – he or one of the birds on the nearest baraka tree. His heart was beating in sink with the ocean's tide, strong and unstoppable. He was scattered and yet whole; powerful, and yet humbled by a subtle, intricate complexity of life; washed anew with the unobtrusive beauty of this place.

Something was changing around him; someone was close by, someone who wasn't that close before. The presence was familiar and beautiful, like a gentle breeze on a heated skin. He acknowledged it, brushing upon it with a tender caress that wasn't meant to be reciprocated. It was time to return and he began to separate his self from the Force web that weaved itself around him, already regretting the loss of this feeling of all-encompassing acceptance. When he emerged, he was still sitting on the big rock that was now quite warm and someone was staying right behind his back. He didn't move. He knew who it was.

"You can't resist too?" a pleasant female voice asked him. "For the amount of time Kyp spends on it you would think it's made of yyegar sugar."

Miko chuckled. Kyp Durron's love for sweets was legendary. "If it was made of yyegar sugar, it wouldn't be sitting here anymore."

"True." Aren circled the boulder and appeared before him. Miko swallowed nervously. And he thought yesterday was bad enough. Apparently, she simply enjoyed torturing him, and was doing it in such a manner that he couldn't even complain. Her outfit wasn't more revealing than a lot of things he saw women wearing on the beaches of Chandrila; in fact, it was even relatively modest. And, of course, she was perfectly in her right to wear whatever she wanted in her own home. Still, he was having trouble breathing, and it was all her fault. She was in flower-print swimming bottoms and a white, sheer, tied at the front sleeveless blouse with ruffled straps and a slightly ruffled neckline. Very low neckline and very loosely tied. And she obviously didn't bother herself with a bra. It wasn't fair. It really, really wasn't. Who did she think he was – a B'omarr monk? And was this a corner of her lips twitching or was he imagining things?

She pushed him lightly in the shoulder with one of her long and perfectly formed hands. "Scoot over. It's my place." When he complied, with some difficulties, Aren climbed up and sat close to him, stretching her long, smooth legs before her and leaning back on her elbows, which allowed him a peak at her flat tanned stomach. She closed her eyes and smiled contentedly. "Kyp says this stone is sitting on a focal point, something like a center for the Force energy. Do you feel it too?"

"Yes. There are similar places on Yavin IV, some of them stronger than this one, some weaker. But it's still a rarity. You're blessed by having it."

"Probably. I wouldn't know, I have almost no sensitivity to the Force. But I like to sit here at the morning. In a day like this, before the sun goes high on the sky…" she turned her head to him and opened her eyes. Miko noticed that in the morning sunlight they seemed to be different from how he saw them yesterday. Still mostly grey, but there were definite sparks of grass green and blue in them now. "Do you feel this harmony, Miko? Do you feel like everything around you loves you? Such a tender, gentle love…"

"Yes." He smiled. "Truth to tell, after all these talks about this place being a legend I was somewhat disappointed yesterday. I think I've got spoiled by Yavin IV, where everything just begs to add 'grand' to its name." Aren chuckled. "But this place is growing on me quickly. You're so lucky to have such a home."

"I'm just lucky, Miko. Period, as my dear brother would say." She looked him over with these sparkling eyes, obviously taking into account his strained pose and flushed face. He averted his eyes. She sighed. "Am I making you _that_ uncomfortable?"

He colored a little. "Is it _that_ obvious?"

"Yes. I'm thirty six, for sweet Mother's sake, and not exactly inexperienced." She made a brief pause. Miko summoned his courage and made himself look at her face again. It was calm, almost serene. Almost. Something was lurking just underneath this serenity; with all her outward relaxation, there was some strain in her eyes and in her feel in the Force that belied the confident facade. Uncertainty… or even fear? What did she have to fear here?

"What is it, Miko?" she asked quietly. "Is it that I'm much older than you, or that I'm your Master's sister? Or have you already pledged yourself to someone?"

The last one was easiest to answer. "No, not that. I have… a girlfriend, for the lack of better word, but it's not like that with her. We're just very good friends who sometimes…" his cheeks went pink again. "Well, you know…"

She smiled a tiny sad smile. "Not firsthand, but yes, I know what you mean. When I was a teenager, my father used to say: 'Love has many faces. You can't choose by which one it'll decide to smile at you.'"

Miko digested this statement for a couple of minutes. As far as all sayings went, it was a good one. He certainly was old enough to understand that matters of love and attraction were much more muddled than the authors of popular romance novels were making them to be. But she had a point; what was his issue here? Why he was so hesitant about admitting his attraction to her? "It isn't that you're older," he said after all. "I don't care about that. I think it's because you're very different from the women I'm used to deal with. You're so beautiful, so… refined…"

This time her smile was openly bitter. "Believe it or no, it's more of a curse than a blessing."

He remembered Alema and Numa's stories and what Daeshara'cor told him about her mother. Yes, some beings had weird ways in appreciating beauty. Miko didn't even want to ask what put this amount of bitterness in Aren's smile, so he decided to continue. "And yes, I'm a little put out by you being Kyp's sister. It's strange. I don't know…"

"…how he'll react? Don't worry. Kyp's a true Seighne, even if he wasn't born as one. We're very open with such things and he'll never disrespect my choice, even if he doesn't agree with it." She paused; it was her turn to avert her eyes. "I don't want any misunderstanding between us, Miko. Yes, I'm attracted to you. Very much. I haven't felt such an attraction to a man in many years. It's nothing more than that and, frankly, I don't want anything more right now… but it's still plenty for me. What I don't want here are regrets. So if you're not sure, not comfortable, then we can forget this talk ever happened. If not… just say so."

"I will. And thank you… in any case."

She smiled. He was truly amazed by the range of emotions she could display in just a smile. This one was small, but open and gentle, and slightly mischievous. It made her look endearingly young and untroubled, peeling away all that sophisticated veneer. A proverbial girl from the next living block. Was that her true face, he wondered, or just an illusion?

"Well, I should go and make the breakfast now," she said, half-sliding, half-jumping from the boulder. "My brother and son may be full of all kinds of redeeming qualities, but they both can't cook a toast without making it completely unpalatable."

Miko chuckled. "Is Rik really as bad as Kyp?"

"Worse, if that's possible. And no, thank you, I don't need help. I'm very possessive of my kitchen."

He chuckled. "No objections here; I have enough of cooking around Kyp. I'm going to explore the premises for a while."

"Take a comlink with you, so we can call you when breakfast is done."

Miko made a face. He didn't want to go inside again. "I'm not going too far. Kyp will have no trouble to summon me at this distance."

"Indeed. I forgot. See you at breakfast then." She turned and went to the house, gracing him with a much less obstructed view than yesterday, but the gaze he followed her with this time had equal amount of excitement and thoughtfulness.

He had something to think about, indeed.

Aren wasn't surprised to find Kyp in the kitchen, standing by the window, just out of a sight from the outside. He always had a knack for being in the right place in the right time. Her brother was leaning on a wall with one shoulder, hips canted, hands crossed, still wet wavy hair he offhandedly combed back already starting to dry and curl around his face in untidy half-rings. _Such a typical Kyp Durron's pose_, she mused. He managed to look intimidating without even thinking about it. Or was it her own fear speaking? Truth to be told, she wasn't as sure of his reaction as she had told Miko. Of course, he knew about her past flings; he never, however, _saw_ her with a man and knowing and seeing were two very different things. Aren knew Kyp well enough to be sure he would never make a scene or even show his displeasure, but it wouldn't be easy for him, especially in this particular case. She had some talking to do here, definitely.

She felt a wave of resentment rising inside her. It wasn't fair; she knew it wasn't. He couldn't help being troubled in this situation. _But why everything in my life should be that complicated? Why can't I have **something** the easy way for a change? _In the next moment she cringed with self-disgust. And she was telling him _he_ was bitching? It was quite a number of years since she allowed herself to indulge in this kind of hypocrisy.

Kyp still was just looking at her, saying nothing. The face that could be so expressive and animated was absolutely blank now. He wasn't going to start first. Of course he wasn't; formally he had no right to ask. Their relationship, however, was never formal and she wasn't about to start with formalities now.

She sat on one of the massive wooden chairs weary. "Go ahead, shoot."

"I just hope you know what you're doing, sister," he said quietly. "That's all."

Aren almost cried at these words. She should have known he would never reproach; somehow, however, his acceptance always came as a surprise. But how could she make him understand, when she wasn't sure she understood what was going on herself?

She sniffed. "No, I don't know what I'm doing. I only know that I want it, want him. Need him. It has been way too long, brother. I think I forgot how to…"

"Love?"

"No, not even to love. To connect. To trust someone who isn't a family member or a longtime friend. Give myself to a man." She was quietly weeping now. "It's terrifying, Kyp. I'm scared out of my mind. But I want to do it, now, with him, or I think I'll never gather my wits to do it again."

She felt the gentle, callused fingers on her face wiping out the tears, then a warm breath near her ear. "I understand, seanna. Believe me, I understand."

She sniffed again, fumbling blindly for a tissue, before she remembered that she left them on the other side of the kitchen. Sure enough, in a second one was tucked in her hand. "Thanks," she mumbled and blew up her nose. "That's sad, really, that you can understand me so well. Why do we have such a rotten luck in our love life, baby?"

He shrugged. "Setting our expectations too high, probably? I was luckier than you, though. At least I'm still on speaking terms with Kyra."

"How is she, by the way?"

He snorted bitterly. "Fine, as much as I can tell. Living the life of a major star and reliving ups and downs of our wild ride of a relationship in every second one of her songs."

"I heard some of them. She still hasn't gotten over you."

"That's allright." She wasn't surprised by some overtones of satisfaction in his voice. "I haven't gotten over her too."

"Is it possible?"

"Yeah, according to the popular belief, it is. The trick is to find someone else to fall in love with."

"Tried that. You can see the results."

He sighed. "Sis, that is exactly the problem."

"What?"

"You _tried_. This is not the matter of trying. That's something you should do or do not."

"Oh, please, don't go all Yoda on me!"

He chuckled. "Can't help myself. I think it's etched in my mind by now. I still think you should have allowed me to have a nice little talk with this sithspawn."

"And what it would have accomplished? It was my mistake more than his, anyway. Making a bad judgment once is stupid, but making it twice…"

"…is falling into a pattern. Is that why you want to do something completely different? You never were the one for casual sex."

"It's not casual, brother. Right now for me nothing is casual. I just… I feel that I can trust him. I don't know why, probably because you do. And I really don't want a lot right now. I just need to break down that damn icy shell I build around me. A little more waiting and I'll not be able to."

He squatted on the floor before her. "Whatever works for you. Just don't break his heart over this. You are all too easy to fall in love with, sister mine."

"I told him what I want. Now it's his decision."

Kyp smiled. "Somehow I don't think he'll refuse the offer. But what would Rik think about that?"

She shrugged. "I don't think I should worry about his reaction. He was hinting that I should do something in this direction for a long time, even went as far as staying in the dormitory during the days I was in Ariana. He really grew up a lot in the last year, Kyp."

"I noticed. But there is something eating on him. Do you have any idea what?"

She bit her lip. "I'm not sure. Where is he, by the way? I didn't see neither him nor Gella this morning."

Kyp's eyes assumed a far away look for a moment. "They all are near the stream and, judging by Miko's mood, Gella is pestering him unmercifully. I think I should count it as an exercise in patience and self-restrain. And by the way, they are getting hungry."

She jumped up. "Oh, blast it! Breakfast!"

He laughed. "You're getting senile. Here, let me peel that."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Where is your lightsaber?"

He rolled his eyes. "On the shelf. For how long you're going to hold that against me? It was a mood of a moment kind of thing!"

"Yeah, you just had an overwhelming compulsion to slice vegetables with your lightsaber. In the air. I'm sure it seemed to be the excellent idea at the time."

"I caught all of them!"

"Uh-huh. Caught their burned remains, you mean."

"I'll use a nice, old-fashioned metal knife, I promise. It should warm your tradition-loving soul…"

"Oh, shut up! This joke is getting old." She gathered the vegetables in a bowl. "Here – just peel it all and slice them in cubes."

He saluted her with a knife and began to work. This part of cooking process he got down almost to perfection, since it was his major duty in the Academy's kitchen. By unanimous vote, it was decided it would be safer for everyone than let him loose near the stove. For a couple of minutes they both were silent, then he decided it was the time to return to the previous topic of conversation. "So," he drawled, "Rik?"

"Yeah," Aren echoed, "Rik. I'm not sure, brother. I think it's all tied down to his voice mutation. Since it begun, he is even moodier than usual. He refuses to talk about any plans for the future. He runs himself rugged with the amount of practice he has on different instruments and it's paying off, really. His teachers are ecstatic over his development, but seems like it doesn't cheer him up at all. He was mentioning showing you this and telling you that, but now you're here and it looks like he didn't even hinted to you about any of these things!"

"That's not exactly true. We had a semi-talk."

"What the kriff do you mean by that?"

"I mean he didn't tell me what's wrong, but he at least admitted that something is and promised to talk as soon as he'd figure out what exactly it is."

"Well, it's more than he was willing to tell _me_! Gonadh, Kyp, I want to help!"

"Of course you do! Easy, sis! Did it occur to you that it might be something he just can't discuss comfortably with a woman?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course it occurred to me. If you didn't show up I was going to summon you, and much more insistently than I did in this last letter."

"Is that's why you are so irritated about all this mess?"

"Yes. Mostly. I don't see you nearly enough for my liking. I feel like I saw more of you during the first years, when everybody was jerking you around as an errand-boy, for mission after mission. Now you're supposedly your own boss, and I see less of you than I did before. I have to write so you would remember about our existence… and when you do show up after all you're promptly getting yourself into the mess that can easily prevent you from returning here for sweet Mother knows how long!"

Something, probably a silence that was stretching out for too long, prompted Aren to turn and look at him. Kyp was sitting there with a half-peeled potato in one hand and a knife in the other, looking at her with the wide-opened eyes that held a frighteningly desperate expression. "Oh, no!" he blurted. "Not you too!"

"Not me too?" she echoed without comprehending. "What do you mean, not me too? Oh. So _that's_ why you broke up with Kyra?"

He averted his eyes. "Yes. More like she broke up with me, though; I was pretty content to continue as we were. But this time _she_ was the one who decided she needs more."

"That's ironic allright. First she wasn't ready to commit, now when she's ready, you're not…"

He hurled the potato back in the bowl with a thud. "Sithin' right I'm not! She wants everything! My real face, my real name… no more hiding, no more secrets, no more disguises, no more disappearing for months at a time… she's got this pretty picture of two pop stars living their lives together on and off stage into her head and nothing I was saying could get through to her!"

"Would it be that bad?" Aren asked quietly. "You wanted this once."

"Yeah," he smiled crookedly. "I also grew up a lot since then. We may be a great pair on a stage and even greater one in a bedroom, but it's not enough. And she never will be able to understand the rest of my life. Not even close. That is, if she would not freak out the minute she discovered who she was making love to all these years."

"I think you're not giving her enough credit, brother. She's not a coward."

"The last thing the Corellian Witch is would be a coward. But you're judging by yourself. Kyra is not like you at all. She doesn't take kindly to things that are outside her comprehension."

"She may be willing to try."

"She may be. But I'm not willing to take this risk. If she isn't able to accept, I'll lose her completely. Now there is at least some hope left. No. I invested too much time and tears in this relationship. Guess it means I'm a coward here." He picked up the potato bulb from the bowl and began to peel it again. Aren got a message. He considered this talk to be over.

_Tough titty, little brother_, she thought. _I'm tired of tiptoeing around this issue_.

"So you don't want to talk to her again about this?"

Kyp just shook his head without raising it, which made his unbound hair to fall on his face like a curtain, completely obscuring whatever expression it might have held.

"It's your business, of course. But I can't forget what you were like this first year with her. You were happy, brother. I ache to think you're giving up the opportunity to be that happy again."

He raised his head, shaking the black bangs out of sight and the sadness in his eyes was more bitter than any rebuke he could give to her. "I can no more return to this happiness than became twenty one again. It's over, Aren. Let it be."

She conceded. This time. "As you say."

He finished peeling the vegetables. She sliced some meat and mushrooms and waited while he was slicing the last greens. "Kyp," she said gently, "I don't understand something here. Why my complain about not seeing you enough scared you so much?"

He still stubbornly refused to look at her directly. "I just got lost for a moment here. You repeated some of what Kyra said almost word to word."

_And you thought I would do the same thing she did?_ Aren shuddered. She knew that being not accepted, being rejected by the people he loved was probably the deepest and most potent of all Kyp Durron's fears, right next to the one of going back to the Dark Side. Very few people knew that; Kyp was always putting on a good show of being a loner by nature and choice. It was a very effective mask, but it was also the one she has never believed. Not since she saw a hopeless longing in the huge green eyes on the thin boyish face while he was talking about how he wouldn't mind if she would never allow him to cross the threshold of her home. And now she unwittingly stirred those fears again. Damn.

"Rodi," she called quietly. She rarely used this name; she didn't understand why, but it never left her lips lightly. Probably because Kyp himself never used it carelessly. It was Rurik's inheritance, saved for the stage and a few special occasions, like letters or official family and clan affairs. "We would never disown you, no matter what. You said this yourself, remember? What is it, a crisis of faith?" That made him grin and she gave her thanks to the Great Mother silently. "Just keep in mind, please, that we might not require to be saved from a grave danger, but we still need _you_. Not a Jedi Master, not a music star, not a squadron commander. Just you. Brother. Uncle. Got it?"

He gave her one of his rare open smiles in response. "Sis, I think we've got screwed up timing as a default setting. There is a bunch of hungry kids outside and instead of making breakfast we're getting into heart-to-heart over our love lives and other equally cheerful and uncomplicated issues."

She laughed, accepting his attempts in lifting up the mood. "Hey, I want to sleep with one of these kids!"

He made a face. "I think I'm too innocent for the particulars. Take this." He handed her the rest of his handiwork. "How long until it's ready to eat? I think even Miko's patience is frying thin by now."

"Fifteen minutes or so. I think you can call them."

"Done. By the way, you should probably consider putting on something more suitable for a family breakfast, or my poor apprentice won't be able to see a plate before him."

"Oh."

He followed the spreading of her blush from the shoulders up with satisfaction. The score was back to deuce.

And besides, he himself would be better off with covering more of his skin than he did right now. Neither Rik nor Miko were going to be shocked by his scars, but Gella was another story. Kyp headed outside, but a fit of childish competitiveness made him stop, return to the table and take the knife. Of course, the ideal thing would be to do that with an ysalamiri in the room. He briefly smiled over the thought of taking Rik to Myrkr some day. Myrkr. His personal proving ground, the only planet he both respected and hated with a passion. It was never easy to be there, but always rewarding. Over the years he made a habit of visiting it at least once in a year, just to have an accurate measure of his abilities and strength. However, even without any ysalamiri available Kyp knew how to close himself to the Force. This skill was a part of both Skywalker's and Exar Kun's teachings. In fact, the techniques were almost identical, which made him think for a hundredth time about the point where the Jedi and the Sith ways were beginning to separate from each other.

He decided it would be too easy just to repeat Rik's dash to the door, so he complicated things by diving into a roll just before the doorway and throwing the knife immediately after coming out of it. The blade hit the dark wood less than a finger's width from Rik's mark. Not ideal, but not bad also. And thank the Force no one saw that. This competitive streak was always getting him into a trouble.

Kyp didn't bother to dress up. A simple sleeveless shirt suited him just fine. Despite the still early hour the air was already becoming hot – the drawback of living in the enclosed valley. He wasn't going to complain, though. He had enough of being cold in the mines; anything that felt different was good enough for him.

He just got back to the kitchen and began to set up the table when he heard the sound of two pairs of feet and Gella's ecstatic shrieking outside. In the next moment Miko and Rik came running through the doorway, somehow managing not to squash themselves in it, the girl happily dangling from their outstretched hands. They dumped her on the floor, quite unceremoniously, but she was too busy laughing to notice.

Kyp felt a smile stretching his face, almost against his will. What a picture she was: the plaits that Aren carefully braided her hair in last evening now had wisps sticking in all directions. The small face was flushed, the little body, covered only by the bright pink swimming bottoms with ruches, was already looking more dusky than his own. Apparently, Gella tanned easily; she just didn't have an opportunity for it before. What a change from the too-quiet, too-obedient girl he first saw in the barrack on Dubrillion. It suddenly occurred to him that her life with her parents was, probably, not as happy as he assumed before. It wasn't exactly a pleasant thought, but Kyp didn't know how to explain her easygoing behavior otherwise. He was glad that she was adjusting nicely, but shouldn't she be more… well, troubled, by such a big change in her life? He noted that as another thing to talk about with Keit when he would have the opportunity and was going to turn and say good morning to the boys when Gella decided she's had enough of sitting on the floor. In a timeless fashion of the children of the entire Galaxy, she tugged at his trousers to get his attention. This tactic guaranteed her an immediate victory: his pants had a stretch waistband.

"Hey!" he exclaimed indignantly, grabbing his garment and trying to ignore Rik's snort behind his back. "You're a little too young to practice _this_ move!" With that, he bent and picked her from the floor.

Gella didn't understood what he said, but was blissfully unconcerned about it. "Uncle Kyp!" she whispered fervently in his ear. "I saw the cave! Rik show'd me his cave! It's _great_! He say I can sleep in it! Can I?"

The cave she was talking about was, in fact, a deep grotto that served as a favorite playground and hiding place for the generations of Segan children. In his first years of visiting Rann Na Móna he himself used it frequently as a place for meditations. Sometimes, when he was in the mood, he even spent a night or two there. Rik took it over in just a couple of years, inheriting the mattress and some basic necessities Kyp brought in it. The boy, a solitary being by nature, frankly preferred it as a living place whenever the weather permitted. Kyp was a little surprised that his nephew was so willing to share it with the girl, but in the next moment he felt like smacking himself in the head. Letting Gella to spend the night in the grotto meant that someone had to be with her and Rik was the obvious choice. Which effectively and unsuspiciously removed them both from the house, leaving the adults alone to sort their feelings.

Kyp didn't lie to Miko when he said that his nephew managed to confuse him on a regular basis. Underestimated, probably. Sometimes Rik's ability to hear the unspoken and play his game while calculating it for three steps ahead was downright scary. The fact that the aforementioned ability existed side-by-side with Rik's tendency to be as thick as a neutron star in some other instances only added to the confusion. Even being a Jedi, he was never able to predict which side was going to surface in any given situation; in this particular case, however, Kyp was extremely relieved to see the first one. Aren certainly didn't need any added tension.

"I think you should talk to Aren about that, but I don't see why not," he answered to the girl. "Now go and wash yourself before the breakfast." He put Gella back on the ground and smacked her lightly on the rear. She ran out through the door adjacent to the house, apparently already quite familiar with the way.

He turned around and the first thing he noticed was Miko's surprised gaze. "What?" Kyp asked with some irritation.

"Nothing," his apprentice smirked. "I'm just shocked to see you in a parental mode. You weren't like that with her on the ship."

"I didn't want her to become attached to me. Now, though…" Kyp shrugged.

"You're very good with children," Miko observed with cautious neutrality.

"Ha! I had a lot of practice. This brat," he nodded to Rik, "and Solos. Don't know who was worse."

"Hey!" Rik countered indignantly. "At least I didn't try to steal your comlink to see what's inside!"

Kyp snorted. "You just never were interested in machinery."

"Yeah," Rik smirked. "I had a lot of other things to get into trouble with." He raised his hand and lightly brushed the column near which he was staying. It was a very innocuous, random gesture… or it would have been, if his hand didn't pass right over the two knife marks in the dark old wood. The teen's smirk became a bit too knowing for Kyp's comfort, but to say something in this case would be to dig his own grave, proverbially speaking, of course. As a distraction, though, it was first class; judging by the expression on Miko's face, this time he felt Aren's approach well before his Master did.

It seemed that the woman was concerned more with getting herself back under control than with her appearance. The only things she added to her attire were a plain wrap-around long skirt and a pair of flat-soled open sandals, but her face was clean, calm and relaxed. She stopped briefly at the doorway, ushering clean-faced, clean-dressed and fresh-braided Gella inside and immediately imposing some order over the crowd. "Good morning, all. Kyp, finish the table, please. Rik, go wash your hands." The teen scowled, but obeyed the command. She followed him with her eyes, then turned to her brother and asked with interest: "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing," Kyp answered quickly.

"Ah-ha. Tell it to someone else. Caught you on something unsuited to your venerable age, didn't he?"

"I would love to see him as a father some day," Kyp mumbled. "Force knows, I'm not a vindictive person, but I swear I'll live long enough to see that!"

"Ah-ha."

"Stop it!"

"Did I miss something here again?" Miko asked bemusedly.

"Yeah, and thank the Force for that. Aren! Not a word!"

"You know, brother," she said through the giggles, "you can take the matter into your own, errr, hands. Provide him with a much younger cousin and see how he'll fit into an uncle's role."

"Yeah, right. I'm not willing to go to _that_ length for revenge. Not to mention…"

"Oh. Sorry."

"Never mind. Really."

Pause.

Rik choose precisely this moment to return. He stopped in the doorway, and looked first at Kyp, then at his mother, and then at Miko's bewildered face. "What did I miss?"

And Miko burst into a hysterical laughter, which only intensified when three equally puzzled pair of eyes, green, grey and black, turned his way. "Sorry," he said in a weak voice after the fit passed. "Did you guys consider starting writing scripts for holocomedies? You would make a mint."

"Miko!"

The voice of sanity came from an unexpected source. While the adults were busy glaring on each other, Gella, with a healthy disregard for anything except her own well-being, announced: "I want breakfast!"

Aren came to herself first, shaking her head as if trying to banish a hallucination. "Right. Breakfast."

"Such an extinct, almost forgotten concept," Kyp said dryly.

Aren shook her head sadly. "You never know when to stop, don't you? Just for that you're serving. And doing dishes."

Kyp threw her a mocking salute and thankfully refrained from saying anything else.

The stew was delicious. Hot, rich, fragrant, it carried a homey feeling Miko didn't feel since his mother died. He ate slowly, savoring the taste, tearing out pieces from the warm big loaf of a strange sweet bread – Aren told him it was called 'shrail' – and generally enjoying the feeling of peace and contentment. The conversation was slow and idle, just enough to not allow the mood to slip into an uncomfortable silence. Gella, who had finished first, grew bored and began to fidget on her chair.

"Gella, you can go to the studio and play, if you want," Kyp suggested off-handedly. "Just don't touch anything that has strings on it."

The girl's face brightened. "Thanks, uncle Kyp!" She was out of the chair and off the door in a moment.

"And don't close the door!" the Jedi called to her back.

Aren looked at him with suspicion. "You are testing her."

"Ah-ha."

Rik looked at each of them in turn. "Testing?"

Kyp just shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, and transferred another serving of the stew to his plate. "Let's just wait and see."

"Hear."

"Whatever."

They didn't have to wait for long. Sounds began to ooze through the old hallways. It seemed the girl was trying the instruments one by one, not quite succeeding with any; some of the sounds were downright jarring. Judging by them, Gella went through at least five different ones, until Miko at last was able to identify something familiar.

"Well," Rik smiled, "seems that someone found the keybed."

"Redundant stating of the obvious."

"Shush, you." Aren stood up. "Miko, caf or tea?"

"Caf, please." Miko looked at them pleadingly. "Do I need to write 'I don't understand what you are talking about' on my forehead?"

His Master sighed. "It's not a complicated story, Miko. Just a rather long one. The short version of it is that: Aren's father adopted me on Kessel after my parents were killed. He was a musician, as you could probably guess, from a family with a long tradition in music and other arts. Shortly after, he discovered that I have a gift for music. Well, that could have probably been a coincidence. Now I'm bringing this girl here, in his home, and in less than two days she starts showing the signs of having at least some inclination to music. If it proves to be more than an inclination… well, let's just say I don't believe in such coincidences."

The sounds from the hallway became more orderly. Gella, apparently, was trying all keys one by one, making a brief pause between each take, as if letting the sound settle. The disarray in Miko's head also cleared up a little; at least now he understood some of what they were talking about yesterday. Some.

"You think it's a will of the Force or something?" the young Jedi asked.

"Or something," Kyp answered dryly.

Miko suppressed an urge to roll his eyes and changed the topic of conversation. "I never thought you could play or sing."

The older man chuckled. "Quite well, actually."

Rik snorted and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "understatement of the year."

"Why you never play or sing in the Academy then?" Miko asked him. "Tionne does."

The expression of pained suffering on Kyp's face almost made the young man laugh aloud. "Don't start me on Tionne's singing," the Jedi Master warned. "I like the woman, I really do, but at least half of my grey hair can be put on her account."

"Well, if you can do better than her, why don't you?"

"Precisely because I'm not an amateur like she is."

_Kyp Durron at his arrogant self_, was Miko's first thought. On the heels of it came the second one: _This has to be the most uncomprehending answer I heard in the last three days! _

"Miko," Kyp said gently. "You don't serve gourmet food in a swinsh dance hall. You don't run a podrace in a museum." He made a pause, and added, "You don't play a professional show in the Jedi Academy. Some things are better kept separate."

The young man pondered it over. "It's not all, isn't it?"

"No. But that's one of the major reasons."

Miko itched to ask what the others were, but extracting information from Kyp, apparently, went much better when done in small doses. There were other things worth asking about in what was said, namely…

"So you're not really brother and sister then? I mean, by blood," he added quickly.

Aren smiled. "We are now."

"How's that?"

"You remember I told Ivar that I'm a member of the clan by all traditional laws?" Miko nodded. "Well, the ceremony of adoption includes a blood rite, mixing blood with the closest member of the family you're being taken in. I know, some would consider it purely symbolic, but not here…"

"…and not us," Aren finished firmly.

"Oh." Yes, he heard about such rituals. If he remembered his school lessons correctly, it was considered one of the oldest and most binding oaths in the Galaxy, although believed to be extinct on most civilized planets. Apparently, being almost completely isolated for millennia, people of Garos IV missed this extinction.

Meanwhile, the steady and slightly annoying flow of ascending notes from the studio stopped. Miko was about to sigh with relief, when Gella began to play again. To him it seemed at first that she was just pressing keys at random, lingering on ones more than on others, making long, uneven pauses in-between, but after a minute or two he thought he recognized something in that hesitant, shaky playing, so similar to the first steps of a baby. It _was_ some melody; he just couldn't recognize which one. But his hosts obviously did.

"I would be Kesseled again," Kyp said slowly. "'Lonely Heart Spaceport' by Annadale Fayde. I didn't hear this one in at least ten years. Well, I think we've got our answer."

"I think we've got more questions," Rik countered.

"Yeah, and you've got company for the next year in the Academy. By the way, do you want to jam a little? I would like to hear your opinion."

Aren perked at that. "You wrote something new?"

"Sort of. This one was steaming for a while; you know how it happens sometimes – bits and pieces that refuse to make a whole. But it all came together after our talk the other night, although I'm still unsure about the music."

"Oh, well. Can we listen too?"

"Of course. Everyone is done with the dishes?"

"Forget the dishes," she said impatiently. "I was just teasing. This lazy bum," she pointed to her son, "insisted on buying a dishcleaner couple of months ago."

"This lazy bum," Rik answered archly, "happened to think there are other things in the word to occupy your time with. You know, reading, playing… something that involves your brains. I'm sure the last word should ring some bells." Rik stood suddenly, pushing his chair back with a jerky motion, ignoring somewhat surprised gazes his mother and uncle threw in his direction. He collected the dishes in an equally abrupt manner, quickly loaded them in the dishcleaner and turned around.

"Well. Are we going to do something or are you going to sit here and stare at me like I said something you've never heard before?"

Kyp and Aren exchanged glances and shrugged their shoulders in an eerie unison, then stood up. "Come on, Miko," Kyp said, "I think you'll find it interesting."

The studio, which Miko didn't have an opportunity to see before, was a big room, airy, and, unlike most rooms in the old building, light, although that was surely a temporary state; as soon as the sun was past its zenith this side of the house was going to succumb to the shadows again. One of the walls was completely covered by mirrors, creating the illusion of a much bigger space. The floor was covered by beautiful wooden parquet, smooth and tightly assembled but unpolished. There was also a wooden rail attached to the mirror wall at approximately waist high. The whole half of the room near the mirrors was completely empty, save from a standard gym mat in a corner. The other, though, was cluttered with various musical instruments. And he thought there were a lot of them in the apartment in Ariana. Apparently, it was the minor part of the collection. He recognized at least three of them – a double viol, a synth viol, and a keybed, which was occupied by proudly beaming Gella. There were some others that he could remember seeing here and there, but the rest of them weren't familiar to him at all.

"Nice job, girl," the Jedi Master said to Gella. "Do you like to play it?" He nodded to the keybed.

If the child's face became a bit more proud, she would probably just burst into tiny pieces. "Yeah!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "It's stellar! I can do songs! Daddy never allow'd me to touch his music box. I wanted to, but he say it's not for babies."

The effort not to utter anything unfavorable about Gella's late father was clearly seen on all three faces around Miko. The man did die as a hero… but he obviously didn't have a lot of faith in his own daughter.

"Well," Aren said, "we're not that fuzzy. You can play whatever you want if it doesn't have strings. We'll find you a viol later, or a kitara, if you want. And we'll show you how to play it properly. Deal?"

Gella nodded enthusiastically.

"Come here, then. Kyp and Rik want to play. We'll just sit quietly and listen."

The girl climbed down from the high stool and burrowed herself between Aren and Miko on a wide padded bench. "Do they play well?"

"Very well."

"Do you play too?"

"Yes, but I'm not as good as they are. I prefer dancing."

"You can play?" Miko asked, surprised. "Which instruments?"

"I've got a dual degree in the Academy – father insisted on it. But I was always much better as a dancer than as a musician. Instruments… keybed, for once. Synth-harmonica. I can manage a couple of others, but I would rather not, at least where those two can hear. I don't like being told that I'm not half-bad for an amateur."

Miko smiled. "Perfectionism as a family tradition?"

"Or a curse. I used to think it's a good thing, up until the first couple of years with Kyp. He drove me crazy with his self-induced guilt trips. Apparently, father was a bit too heavy-handed and exacting with him. But at least Kyp can be persuaded from time to time that he's allowed not to be ideal. Rik, however, is taking this attitude to the heights that only a stubborn teenager can reach. It's scary. And Kyp isn't the best role model when it comes to 'letting things be' and 'taking it easy'." She looked at him over Gella's dark head. "Do you know what I said after I had heard that he took an apprentice?"

"Let me guess. 'Poor boy' or something along these lines?" the young Jedi smirked.

"Stop reading my mind," she said sternly, but then smiled to show it was just a joke. "Not too hard to guess, isn't it? How it happened that you didn't run from him screaming?"

The young man adopted the look of unassuming innocence that used to make his Master swear under his breath in a dozen different languages during the first months of their co-habitation. "There is no emotion; there is peace."

The woman snorted rudely. "The first time Kyp quoted this to me I said that's the biggest load of bantha crap I've ever heard in my life."

That sobered the young Jedi immediately. "Do you still think so?"

"Yes. If you want, we can talk about this. But not now. They are about to begin."

Indeed, both Rik and Kyp finished tuning their instruments and were talking quietly, probably discussing what to play. The instruments were almost identical – two eight-shaped flattened boxes with the single round hole in the middle and the long necks with strings attached to them. Miko was almost sure he saw something like that before, but couldn't remember where. The memory was buzzing on the edges of his mind, annoyingly just out of reach. At last he gave up and asked: "Aren, how these things are called?"

"Kitara. That's the bastard cousin of a classic quetarra. It's simpler, but more convenient and in some aspects more versatile. It's less widely known, but very popular on some planets. Most of them are in the Colonies with an exception of this one and, strangely, Corellia."

The moment she said the last word the memory sparked in Miko's brain. "Oh, of course!" he exclaimed. "I saw it in some old Corellian holodrama. Something about a musician who became a bounty hunter bent on revenge after some bad fellow killed his girl and shot him through the hand."

Kyp, who seemed not to be paying any attention to their talk prior to this, raised his head. "It's called 'The One Who Didn't Forgive'. So you know it?"

"Yeah. I was bored one evening when I was still on Chandrila, before the Academy, and ended up in the theater that specialized on old holos. It was worth more than I paid for it. Killer dialogues and nice music. I even tried to copy this guy's walk for a while. Ha! I just realized – you know, you look very much like he did. Same type, same hair, same eyes and you sit with this… kitara just like he did."

Kyp smirked. "Yeah, I've been told that a couple of times. Nice music, you said? Something like… this?"

And in the next moment a beautiful, achingly sad melody begun to flow from under his fingers. It was definitely Corellian, although after the first minute Miko already was able to hear the differences between the one Kyp was playing and the original one. Now he could remember it clearly; it was jovial, energetic and bustling with wanton charm, designed to highlight the character's self-assured, cocky manners. Kyp, while keeping with its major theme, was playing something that was much more emotionally complicated and sad. _Probably it's how the musician in the holo would have played it if he lived to regret what he had done_, the young Jedi thought suddenly. Soon the kitara in Rik's hands came alive too, playing a counterpoint to Kyp's theme and two streams of music flew in concert, mixing together the one moment and separating in the next, challenging each other for the lead. After a little while, the melody strayed from the path of the old Corellian song and became something completely original.

Miko was trying to overcome his surprise, which, frankly speaking, was bordering on shock. Kyp was completely serious before; he wasn't an amateur. That much was obvious even to his ears. Kyp had the skills of a professional and, as much as the young Jedi could say, not of a mundane rank. More so, he had a talent, a gift that was probably equal to the one he had in the Force. How could he keep it hidden? How could he bear not using it to full potential? It was unfair, so unfair…

He knew he wasn't particularly talented. His strongest abilities were that of a Jedi, and even in that he was nothing above the average. Miko realized that relatively early and tried to accept his fate. It was painful at the time, especially after he joined the Jedi Academy, because there, inside the thick walls of the ancient Massassi temple, he could witness what the true gift is – and understand that no matter what amount of training he would subject himself to, he would never breach this gap.

The acceptance left behind a bitter aftertaste. For some time he thought he would succumb to the feeling he detested probably above anything else – envy. This second battle was even harder, since this time he had to overcome something that was already rooted into his soul. He didn't know if he would manage it if not for Octa Ramis, who repeatedly pulled him out of his funks with her brisk, no-nonsense attitude. Where he saw a tragedy, she saw a normal way of things. What was even more important, she was able to convince him of that. Eventually he came to the conclusion that he couldn't erase feelings that were already inside him; rending himself indifferent proved to be impossible. The only thing he could do was to transform them.

What was left after this transformation Octa used to call his 'fanboy admiration'. Miko knew his appreciation for talented people was bordering on obsession, but he settled with it quite happily. It was lightyears better than wallowing in self-pity or poisoning himself with envy. Aren, despite all her astuteness, missed on this one totally. Never, not even once, not even when he was almost out of his mind and body from exhaustion after all the exercise his Master was driving him through it occurred to him to leave Kyp. Living up the role of a faithful sidekick was fine with Miko; he would have endured much worse for the opportunity to be close and useful to a truly talented person. And whatever else could have been said about Kyp Durron, he _was_ the most talented Jedi in the Order. So far, Miko didn't have any complains. Despite all hardships and hazards, his life was much brighter now than it used to be.

But this new revelation left him completely speechless and reeling from agitation. What Miko has never been able to understand was how a talented person could be negligent to his gift, not employing it to its full measure. To him it reeked of sacrilege. And yet, that seemed to be Kyp's choice. Why? It was so in odds with his Master's personality… but again, did he really know him well enough?

The music came to stop. Kyp raised his head and looked at his nephew with an open, delighted smile. "I don't think I have anything to teach you anymore."

"You sithin' well know you have," came the unexpectedly irritated answer. "Don't you dare to go all consolatory on me!"

The Jedi Master looked at him solemnly. "I'm not trying to console. I'm completely serious, Rik. Technically speaking, you're already at least at my level, if not better."

"I wasn't talking about skill and you know that!"

"I know," Kyp answered calmly. "But it'll come when it'll come, Rik. You're trying to hurry up what can't be hurried. Don't. Please. It's the worst mistake you can make. I know. I made it." He ran his fingers over the dimly shining strings again. "Let's do it once more. Your pick this time."

The teen bit his lip in a gesture Miko came to recognize. Suddenly he remembered the dark-haired man in the vision he picked up from Kyp and wondered why he didn't make the connection earlier. The likeness between him and the boy was startling; he was almost sure he saw what Rik would be looking like in forty years or so. Kyp said Aren's father adopted him on Kessel; circumstances concluded. The young Jedi resumed asking Aren if she could show him her father's holos, just to be sure, and went back to listening. This time the musicians didn't play counterpoint to each other, but took turns, improvising around the same basic phrase. The melody Rik picked up was unfamiliar to the young Jedi, but in the same time Miko was fairly sure he heard something like that before. Not the same tune, but definitely the same style… and once again he couldn't remember what it was or where he heard it. This forgetfulness was starting to annoy him. To get his mind off the bothersome issue he turned to Aren, trying not to disturb Gella, who was quietly snoring between them. "What all that was about?"

The woman sighed. "Artistic problems. Tell me, can you hear any difference between Kyp's and Rik's performance?"

Miko listened intently for a couple of minutes. "Yeah, I suppose I can, now that you mentioned it. I can't tell what it is, though."

"If they were playing separately, who would you listen to longer?"

"Kyp," Miko answered immediately. "But I don't know why. Rik is just as good, as far as I can tell."

Aren smiled with one corner of her lips. "Right. We, artists, call it a 'touch', or, more often, a 'magic'. It's something that's left in music or in a dance when you strip off all the technicalities. It's the charm, the intangible thing that makes one performer different from the other and distinguishes stars from mere craftsmen. Kyp has it and Rik doesn't have. I'm not overly worried by that; Rik is still young. It usually comes with maturity and experience and it's different for everyone. The problem is that with his aforementioned perfectionist attitude Rik, apparently, doesn't want to wait." She rubbed her temple with a tired gesture. "I didn't realize it bothered him that much, honestly. He's only fourteen."

"When did Kyp acquire it, this magic?" Miko asked quietly.

"I don't know. It was already there when I first heard him playing; he was eighteen at the time. But Kyp always was outstanding, an exception to every rule. I got it even earlier, but I'm a dancer, it's different for us. As artists, we mature earlier." She turned to him, the fine face somber and intent. "It's a tricky matter, Miko, very elusive and full of uncertainty. Kyp was probably lucky that he had many other things to worry about at the time. For an artist, coming into being is a hellish period, and too many never make it, burning themselves out with false hopes, faulty expectations, worries and depressions, subjecting themselves to a perpetual fate of a third viol in an orchestra or a fifth line dancer in a troupe." She closed her eyes briefly. "I hope like mad Rik will make it. He's strong and really gifted."

Yeah, Miko could sympathize with such a problem fully. He looked to the other side of the room, where two black-haired heads were bowing over the instruments, fingers dancing on strings. "I can't believe Kyp's wasting a talent like that!" he hissed angrily.

Aren looked at him, startled by such an unexpected outburst. "Who says he does?"

"Aren, up to half an hour ago I never thought he can so much as carry out a tune!"

The grey eyes laughed at him. "So what? Wait and see, Miko, wait and see."

Right on cue, Rik ended the music duel with a forceful chord. "Enough for now. We can do more tomorrow, but if I'm not mistaken, we may have guests soon. You said you have something new?"

"That I have." Kyp turned to the trio in the corner. "Sister? This one is for you." And, saying nothing more, he began to play. The melody was simple at first, just rhythmic chords that sounded very much like a noise of the ocean waves on a quiet day.

Water lapping 'round my knees  
Golden sand beneath my feet  
Would mean a lot to me  
There's very little you can say  
To make those feelings go away  
'Til the Force will take me

There's nothing more that I prefer  
To see the boys and the girls  
Stepping out with grace and pride  
As honesty flows by their side

Miko forgot how to breathe. There was no way he could confuse this voice with any other in the Galaxy. Daeshara'cor sent him two of Rodion Segan's albums just a month ago with a humorous description of Mara's musical harassing of the Jedi Academy's inhabitants during some of her infrequent visits. After listening to the albums, he bought the third one, which just came out. He spent a whole week listening to them almost non-stop, enamored with the beautiful, harmoniously rhythmical music and obsessed with the deceptively simple, haunting texts. And the voice… beautifully clear and slightly metallic, like the cutting edge of a precious Securdian battle-axe, startlingly masculine despite being on the high side of the diapason, perfectly controlled and in the same time free and unstrained even during the most difficult transitions… no, he couldn't be wrong about it. No way.

He didn't notice that he was staying now, with his eyes wide open and fists clenched so hard that his nails were digging in the flash of his palms. In a moment the roaring of blood in his ears subsided enough to let his brain kick back into gear and now he could hear the words, hear and understand.

I cannot run from times hard pressed  
To become embittered, dispossessed  
Just like some do  
And maybe some place I can find  
Where will and heart become entwined  
Like I hope to

And nothing matters more to you  
To sit and hear a song that's true  
The first one there and last to leave  
Sweet memories for you to keep

It seemed that Kyp forgot completely about his audience. He looked straight ahead, as if he was seeing something that existed thousand kilometers behind the old stone wall and his eyes appeared almost unnaturally green in the bright light of the late morning. As if hearing Miko's thought, he suddenly turned on his stool and looked first at Aren and then on still wide-eyed and open-mouthed Miko. One corner of his lips lifted in a small rueful smile.

No easy lesson for me to learn  
Just close your eyes in mock concern  
And halt your rush to be sincere  
There's more in life for me to fear

There's nothing more that I prefer  
To see the boys and the girls  
Stepping out with grace and pride  
As honesty flows by their side

And nothing matters more to you  
To sit and hear a song that's true  
The first one there and last to leave  
Sweet memories for you to keep

The last chord dissolved in the air. The first seconds of silence seemed unnatural in comparison. Miko was just about to pour out some of the invectives that were swarming in his brain, competing for an opportunity to get free, but his righteous indignation was interrupted rudely.

Rik, who they completely forgot about, slammed down his kitara so hard that the poor instrument let out a harsh sound, strangely reminiscent of a human sob. He looked at his uncle with suspiciously bright eyes and opened his mouth a couple of times, as if wanting to say something, but not finding any words. At the end, he just turned abruptly and run out, slamming his fist into the wall on his way and letting out a harsh frustrated cry. It was immediately echoed by Gella's wailing; the girl, apparently, didn't appreciate to be waken up from her nap in quite that manner.

"Kyp!" Aren said urgently. "Go after him!"

"But…"

"But nothing! If we wait until he's willing to talk, we'll get senile waiting! Go! I don't want to endure another six months like this! Talk to him!"

Kyp uttered something undoubtedly unsuitable to be said aloud in Basic and vanished. Aren hugged sleepy, whimpering Gella and sighed. "Don't cry, little pittin. Everything's allright. More or less."

The girl sniffed. "Why Rik angry?"

"If I knew," said the woman wistfully. "If I only knew."

**

* * *

Notes:**

Guys, don't kill me, but I edited all the chapters **_again_**. So the devoted readers, if I have some, can go back and read them. For other lazy bums I'd like to repeat what I wrote in the notes for previous parts.

I finally picked almost all 'faces' for the characters. So, if you want to know how I see them, there is the list:

Kyp Durron – Billy Crudup

Miko Reglia – Gael Garcia Bernal

Aren Denar – Elsa Pataki

Rik Denar – well, I found a perfect model for him on one of the Russian photo sites, but since doesn't allow links, you'll have to mail me to get the link. I also have a gallery for all the characters online, if you're interested.

Ivar Tharas – Vladimir Vysotsky

Kyra – once again, mail me for the link. I also picked a girl to represent Gella, but she's older on it, about 14-16 years old.

The most difficult thing for me was to find a singer whom I could attribute with Kyp's voice. And I know, taking into account that all songs I listed there belong to Capercaillie, my choice may seem somewhat unconventional, but, honestly, I can't even imagine anyone else but Klaus Maine (lead singer of the Scorpions) as Kyp's voice, just as I can't see anyone else but Billy Crudup as Kyp since the moment I laid my eyes on one of his pictures.

I made slight changes in the lyrics of the song, to make it fit better. You can find the original under the name 'Grace And Pride', by Capercaillie.


	9. Part 8

Part 8

**Rann Na Móna, 25 ABY.**

Kyp burst out of the door and into the harsh sunlight and stopped. Rik was nowhere in sight. He took a deep breath and extended his senses, using the Force to look for the boy and hoping that Rik's usual sense of caution wouldn't allow him to do something really stupid, like trying to take the boat and go out to sea against the tide.

Fortunately, Rik was at the spring, but a wave of anguish from him made Kyp's heart lurch painfully. Bad, bad, bad, and going to worse with each passing minute. He needed to hurry.

It didn't take long to reach the spring, no more than two minutes. His nephew was standing near the stone bowl, with his back to the approaching Jedi. He was keeping his hand under the cold water flow, apparently trying to lessen the pain. Kyp's eyes widened. Even during his excessive training in martial arts Rik was always extremely careful about doing any damage to his hands – a usual precaution for a musician, a habit ingrained in his early childhood. If he was desperate enough to do any damage to his hands, then what was next? Mentally Kyp cursed himself. He should have been here. He should have known something was wrong. He hoped like mad that it was still not too late.

"Go away," Rik said in a strangled voice. "I don't need your consolations."

"I'm not offering any," Kyp answered quietly. "But we have to talk. You can't go on like this."

Rik turned so abruptly that the drops of water from his hand flew through the air in a shining arc and splashed Kyp's face, burning his skin with their chill. "I said bugger off! Which part of that don't you understand?" His voice was getting louder and louder with each word. "Just go away and leave me alone. I don't want to talk, and especially not to you of all people! Sith! Why. Can't. You. Just. Leave. Me. Sithin'. Alone!"

The words stung. In any other situation Kyp would probably felt the pain much more strongly, but right now he had other concerns. Rik was shouting at the top of his lungs. That was even worse than slamming his hand into the wall. At least that kind of injury could have been cured with bacta, but the boy's vocal cords were still undergoing mutation. A careless exertion could cause irreparable damage, ending his future as a singer once and for all. It was an unlikely outcome, but still, rare or not, such things happened before and Kyp wasn't going to take chances. Rik was in a hysterical fit; Kyp had the misfortune to see the boy in this condition once or twice before. It wasn't a pretty picture, but what was even worse, Rik tended to clam shut for a long time afterwards, silent and moody, and this wasn't a nice prospect, considering for how long it was going on already. It had to stop and it had to stop now. But how? Trying to make Rik listen to reason was, evidently, already out of option.

Adrenalin surged through Kyp's blood vessels, sending him into a fight mode, making the intangible canvas of time around him stretch and bend, forming a bubble where everything slowed down to the speed of an insect sinking in syrup. Everything but him. In slow motion he saw Rik drawing the next breath in uneven gulps and opening his mouth again, and he did the only thing he could think of in that moment.

Rik didn't get a chance to shout anything else. With the speed impossible for anyone who didn't have the Force to augment already keen reflexes, the Jedi seized Rik's flailing wrists and fixed them behind his back with one of his hands to prevent any possibility for further damage. The other hand landed on the boy's nape and in the next moment Rik's head was submerged in the freezing cold water. Kyp waited about fifteen seconds and pulled the boy out of the bowl, but only to let him to take the next breath. Then he shoved the black-haired head back in the cold crystal depths. He felt like the lowest form of slime-yeast in the Universe by doing this, but it was necessary. It was definitely better than slapping Rik in the face, which was his only other alternative.

Soon the boy's hands, which he tried to jerk out of Kyp's hold, went slack and he suddenly stopped trying to kick his uncle's feet into the ground. Kyp almost fainted from sheer terror. Did he go too far? What if Rik's heart used this opportunity to let him down again? He yanked the boy from the water and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. "Rik? Rik, for Force's sake, say something!"

Rik's black eyes were tightly closed, but the boy's face wasn't contorted with anger anymore. Instead, it was almost unnaturally relaxed. He didn't faint, though; the body in Kyp's hands didn't acquire the telltale heavy limpness of someone who had lost consciousness. Suddenly Rik opened his eyes, which immediately started to fill up with tears. Then the shaking began, a true, full-body, teeth-chattering tremor. Kyp all but ripped the boy's shirt off – it was soaked in cold water. He had just started to take off his own when a cold, slightly swollen and reddened hand lay on his wrist.

"Th-thank yyyou," Rik squeezed out.

His throat tied in a knot, Kyp nodded, took off his shirt, and began to rub the lithe body, drying and massaging it in the same time, until the skin under his hands began to flush with returning blood flow. He swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, Rikki," he managed to say, calling his nephew by his childhood name for the first time in years. "I'm so sorry." He didn't know what he was apologizing for – his rough handling of him just a couple of minutes before, not being here for Rik when he should have been, or for something even deeper and more potent. Whatever it was, he was sorry. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt this boy.

Rik was a mess. He was still crying without any sound, just shedding big, silent tears that fell from his eyes with the regularity of a water-clock, mixing with rivulets of water from his hair, and he was swaying a bit, as if his legs were just moments away from buckling under him. One thing was quite clear for Kyp – neither Aren nor Gella should see him in such a state. Rik would never forgive him if they did. He hastily closed himself to the Force. His student was way too sensitive sometimes, and this really wasn't Miko's business at all.

He hugged the boy with one hand, taking some of Rik's weight upon himself. "Will you make it to the cave?" he asked quietly.

Rik answered him with something remotely resembling his habitual snort. "I'm not a cripple," he said irritably between the sniffles, "and I'm OK."

Kyp resisted the urge to cuff him over the head. _Was I ever that bad? _The most exasperating thing was that he knew the answer to this question. The Universe definitely had a sense of humor. "Just move your legs," he said to Rik. "I've seen half-eaten rancor's chow that looked more OK than you."

It earned him another watery snort, but, apparently, Rik either got tired of denying the obvious, or he just got tired. The cave wasn't far from, and by the time they got to it the boy was able to move under his own steam, though he was still exhausted enough to make a beeline for the mattress as if it was the finest bed in the Imperial Palace, falling on it with a relieved sigh. Kyp suppressed a smile. Hysterics were draining work. He had had enough of them to know that.

He sat down on the edge of the cot and began massaging the taut knots of muscles under the dusky skin. Rik was still shuddering from time to time and even if the boy had his face turned away from him, Kyp still could see that the wet tracks on his cheek weren't drying. "I'm sorry, Rikki," he said again. "It was…" he let it trail off, unable to find a suitable word.

"Yeah," his nephew whispered. "It was. But still - thanks. Even if it was for nothing."

_What? _His hands paused on the boy's shoulders."What the kriff it's supposed to mean?"

"Give me my shirt." When Kyp obeyed, the teen raised himself on his elbows and buried his swollen, reddened face in the wet fabric. "I'm so bloody tired of waiting. I'm sick to the bottom of my guts of it."

So it was about his voice after all. The Jedi sighed. "I have a suspicion that pointing out that you're not the first and not the last one in this situation would mean mynock's crap to you."

"Damn right," Rik muttered.

"You were mentioning a genetic lottery before. Can I remind you that it's on your side in this?"

"Mikal didn't come through," Rik answered quietly. "Mom didn't have the gift to begin with. They are tolerable, but nothing more than that, and that's just not enough for me. I don't care if the chances are slim, they are still here. If I can't sing, if I can't play, I'm nothing. My life is nothing. All these years of bloody hard work for nothing. I don't want to live a life without music, no matter how short that life might be."

Kyp had no answer for that. None whatsoever. He remembered only too well his own anguish when he thought that his abilities were lost forever. If someone had tried to cheer him up then, the poor being would have ended up with broken bones at the very least. But he had to say something; stang, he must! He had dealt with this, hadn't he? And he was good with words. So why couldn't he find any to soothe one of the very few beings he held dear in this Galaxy? He tried to enforce some order over his scattered thoughts, hoping that Rik wouldn't notice his panic. He was supposed to be the wise and steady one here. _Right, and Deyer will become a thriving colony again, _he thought bitterly.

The silence was stretching for way too long, and at a loss for what to say Kyp snatched the one issue that was easiest to answer out of everything Rik had said. "You're not going to die early. You know what the doctors said – with the implant your heart is as good as anyone else's. If not better."

"Yeah, they also said I was in no danger when I was born," the boy answered bitterly. "I didn't exactly live up to their optimistic prognosis."

"Everyone can make a mistake once. But it's very unlikely that the doctors would have made that mistake twice, especially being aware of the first one. And I don't sense anything going wrong…"

"You suck at predicting," Rik interrupted rudely.

"Not quite. You think it was a coincidence that I was here then? I was supposed to leave a week before, but I just couldn't do it, inventing one excuse after the other to stay. I don't have the Sight, yes, but I can still sense when something is going to go wrong. No, Rikki. If you don't believe me, at least you can trust your own Sight. Do you remember? Even if something happens, I'll be there for you. I trust the Force on this." It suddenly dawned on him that this was, quite possibly, exactly the problem and his heart skipped a bit. "You didn't see anything different, did you?"

"No. But…"

"But what?"

"How can I be sure that I'm seeing the future and not my own hopes about it?"

So he probably had seen something, and it wasn't bad. "Did it look like what you hoped to see?"

"Partially." Rik averted his eyes and stood up. "I want some tea," he announced wearily. "Sith, I hate crying. My head hurts as if I have an axe stuck in it."

Only now Kyp noticed a small stove a couple of meters from the mattress and a small pot on it. "You managed to draw a power line from the house?"

"No, it's solar. It's a new gadget, just came to the market recently. Someone finally constructed one efficient enough to work on the surface of a planet and small enough to be convenient. I'm thinking of installing a bigger one on the roof."

"Good idea. You can never have too much energy."

The triviality of this talk should have been reassuring. Instead he felt as if something very important, very vital, was slipping through his fingers, out of his mental grasp, hopelessly, irretrievably. He could almost see the darkness gnawing at Rik, eating his spine, making his shoulders slump in dejection. And suddenly the words were here, at the tip of his tongue, and he blurted them out without even realizing what he was going to say.

"It's not the failure that kills you, Rik. It's fear."

The boy's back went rigid. "What?"

"Fear. It'll eat you inside out, killing everything that is _you_ – your spirit, your mind and your creativity. What is the use of managing your way through all the changes only to find out that you are empty inside at the end of the road? And anger will take over what is left of you by the time fear finishes its work." Yes, this was the heart of the problem. In true Segan fashion, Rik would die before he would admit he was afraid of something, although he came damn close to it just a couple of minutes before, which was telling in itself. And yet, he had to…

Rik interrupted Kyp's scrambled analysis of his psyche. "Thu gàrlach!" he spat out. "You don't know what the frip you're talking about!"

That proved to be too much for Kyp, especially on the top of Rik's earlier hurtful words. Some distant, remote part of his brain sighed in defeat and acknowledged that no one else in the whole universe could shatter his composure as quickly and as surely as this boy was able to. Another shred of sanity, in a disgustingly familiar quiet voice, briefly whispered that confronting anger with anger was not the brightest idea and he ought to know better. But both of them were quickly drowned under a tidal wave of his temper.

"You spoiled brat," he yelled at Rik, jumping to his feet. "_I _don't know what I'm talking about? Of-bloody-course, what can I know? My mediocre difficulties are not fit to hold a glowrod to your mighty ones!"

In the next moment, lying on the mattress and touching his split lip in disbelief he remembered exactly why losing his temper was never the brightest idea, even with Rik. Or, more precisely, especially with Rik. He didn't even see the blow coming, and the significance of this fact washed over him with a sobering iciness. Some Jedi Master he was.

"Get up!" the teen snarled at him.

With a sudden bone-deep weariness, Kyp realized that it didn't matter anymore who provoked whom. He was out of options, and there was only one way left to resolve this situation. He had to ride out Rik's anger, as he should have done from the very beginning. Only it would be ten times more dangerous now.

He rose to his feet, not even trying to get out of Rik's range. The second blow landed right in the middle of his chest, whooshing the air painfully out of his lungs. Kyp blocked it just enough to avoid significant damage, but a kick to the ribs made one of them crack slightly. Another kick to the stomach scraped off a good portion of his skin, making Kyp curse silently at Rik's penchant for military-style footwear. After that Kyp became too busy to pay attention to anything but slapping away blows, blocking them, and allowing his body to turn with the momentum of each blow and kick. Retaliation was out of the question – he didn't want Rik to feel any more powerless than he already did, and his nephew was too good a fighter to allow him any respite in the defensive mode.

It wasn't easy to ride this line between letting Rik vent his anger out on him and preventing himself from being beaten into a bloody pulp. Kyp's vision distorted, expanding into a blurred focus that was more suitable for a prolonged fight. The blows were less frequent now, but more powerful, each one aiming for some vital organ, and his arms and legs were half-numb from blocking. Rik was completely serious all right, fighting better than he ever had in his life. Kyp might have been proud, if he wasn't so afraid.

Suddenly the blows stopped. The Jedi braced himself. He knew what that usually meant – the opponent was beginning to tire out and was looking for an opportunity to finish the struggle with one devastating strike. Kyp expanded his vision even more, trying to stretch it as much as he could, to catch even the slightest beginning of a movement from whatever direction it could come. But instead of the hit he dreaded, he heard a shuddering, loud intake of breath.

"What am I doing?" Rik whispered hollowly. "This isn't me. Who is this?"

Kyp focused his eyes with some difficulty. His head was ringing like a badly cast bell. Despite his best efforts, some of Rik's blows had broken through his defenses. The boy was looking at him with wide-open, terrified eyes. Then Rik raised his hand, and Kyp couldn't suppress the involuntary tension with which his body, still not convinced that the fight was over, was preparing to the coming blow. Rik's fingers, however, only touched the side of his face briefly and came back painted with crimson. Funny. Kyp hadn't been aware that he was bleeding.

Rik stared at his fingers, aghast. "What have I done?" he whispered, and his voice cracked over the words, going into the high, childish register. "Kyp? Why?"

The Jedi exhaled, releasing his tension. The worst was over. _Why, indeed? As if I'm not asking myself the same question every vapin' day._ Suddenly the memory sparkled in his mind, as fresh and colorful as if it happened yesterday rather than thirteen years ago: he, stepping out of the dim darkness of Exar Kun's temple into the orange-tinted light of a bright Yavin IV day, and his teacher, standing with his hands extended to him on the other side of a small shining lake. _"Come back and join us, Kyp," _Luke had said then, and Kyp had felt the last vestiges of the dark ice in his spine melt under the power of his words. _"Welcome home, Jedi Knight."_

Without giving it a second thought, Kyp outstretched his hands and hugged Rik, paying no attention to the fact that he was dirty and bloody. "Welcome back, Rik Segan," he whispered in his nephew's ear. "Welcome back, fighter."

He heard a shattered sob. This time Rik didn't even try to conceal his tears; he was well past being ashamed of crying. The boy's hands came around him and pressed with painful strength. "I wanted to kill you," Rik whispered, sobbing. "I really wanted to kill you. How could I?"

"You stopped," Kyp answered quietly. "You saw it before it became too late. That's what's important."

He gently guided Rik back to the mattress and sat him down, without breaking the embrace. Rik was still crying, openly, unashamedly, like a small child. _Catharsis, _Kyp thought. _Finally._ It had really demanded drastic measures to break through Rik's hard shell, but he had accomplished it, even if it was more by chance than by conscious intent. But they still had to talk.

"If it's any consolation," he said and winced inwardly on his choice of words, "I _did_ provoke you."

He felt the boy shake his head against his shoulder. "No, it isn't. I don't want to resent you. Ever. You and mom are everything to me."

"Then why do you?" Kyp's voice held no contempt, only curiosity.

"Can't help it." Rik sniffed. "I thought I could. It's disgusting to be so envious. I thought I managed. I was all right while you were out, but… seeing you – it's like a blow to my guts. You have it all – talent, voice, magic… looks even… your damn charisma - you don't realize how you're making people feel, do you?"

"I haven't exactly had this problem with the people I care about before." Kyp thought about it and amended. "At least I don't think so. Would it have been better if I hadn't come?"

"No." Rik shook his head again. "No. You're right – I have to deal with this. I can't just erase you from my life. I don't want to."

"Thanks. It'd have hurt me terribly if you did, Rik, honest. You're a son to me, always was. Probably the only son I'll ever have."

The boy was silent, although he didn't make any attempt to distance himself from his uncle's embrace. After a couple of minutes he raised his head and looked at Kyp with swollen eyes. "You are right. I _am_ afraid. It feels like I'm afraid of everything now, every damn little thing reminds me of some fear. I wake up and the first thing I think is what would I do if my voice will never rise above the average? I'm taking my kitara and I think of what if I never rise above the pure technicalities of plucking strings? I'm looking at you and think what if I never live up to your level? I don't think I can live like this, even if I wanted to; it'll kill me."

"You don't have to live up to my level, Rik. You have to live up to your own, whatever it will be."

"What is my own? I'm nothing now."

"No, you're not." Kyp sighed. He knew that, but how could he convince his nephew? Rik still lived in a world of extremities and, to be completely honest, Kyp could understand it. Despite his repeated protestations to the contrary, he wouldn't want to be stripped of his talents too. Being ordinary just didn't sit well with either of them.

"Rikki, please, listen to me. Have I ever lied to you?"

"No. But I wouldn't put it past you, if you thought it was really important."

The Jedi couldn't suppress a smile. Rik really knew him too well. "Well, I do think it's important, but I'm not going to lie to you. Kid, you're putting yourself in an impossible situation, fighting your troubles before they even arrive. You're not nothing, and you never will be, even if you don't come through the changes, which, by the way, I think you will. A talent is a talent – it'll always find a way to express itself. It's a part of who you are and unless you destroy your personality you're stuck with it for the rest of your life. What you have now is just a temporary setback, so would you please look at it as nothing more than that?"

"How do you know?"

Kyp sighed. "How do I usually know something? By personal experience. If only I could let you see through my eyes, if only! Sometimes I think if I ever see someone dear to me repeating my mistakes, I'll die. It was bad enough the first time around."

Rik looked at him curiously. "I don't see any similarities."

"That's probably because I never told you what all this mess was about. We really are more alike than I'm comfortable with." He suddenly realized that Rik's body was becoming heavy in his arms, leaning into the embrace with much more weight than it did ten minutes ago. "Do you want to lie down?" he asked the boy.

"Yeah… Just…" Rik hesitated visibly, swallowed hard, then whispered: "Just hold me, will you?"

"No problem." They lay down, Rik on his back and Kyp on his stomach beside him, leaning on one elbow and draping his other hand loosely across the boy's chest. "It was all about fear, Rik. When I was on Kessel, I got so used to the danger that I stopped noticing it, just as some people get used to a chronic pain after some time. But believe me, when you realize you're free of it, it's a shattering feeling. Elation, rapture, euphoria… attach any fancy name you want and you'll have it. I was giddy with it, feeling so all-powerful when I managed to pilot our ship away from Kessel, through the Maw – only to end up in a detention cell, interrogated, tortured and locked up. Again. And then I found out that Daala had scheduled me for execution. Rik, how can I describe that? To experience the barest hint of freedom only to lose it – and my life – forever… Boy, was I scared out of my vapin' mind!"

"Oh, I bet," whispered Rik. "They tortured you? Is that where your scars came from?"

"No, that one was way before that. Daala's interrogators weren't that crude."

"Wait. Wait. Why haven't I put that together before? What mom said that night - on Kessel? It happened on Kessel? Way before? Just how old you were then?"

"Twelve."

Rik's face turned grey. "Say that again."

"You heard me just fine. Twelve. And we're not talking about that now, OK?"

The boy licked his dry lips. "OK. Of all the fraggin' gods."

"Don't get hung up on it, it's not relevant right now."

Rik exhaled noisily. "As you say." Then, in almost soundless whisper, he added: "Pity indeed mom wasn't there."

Kyp was beginning to think that killing his torturer himself was indeed a wise idea. Aren wasn't a Jedi, but that didn't mean that going to the Dark Side wasn't an option for her. "Rik, snap out of it. I'm trying to make a point here."

Some of Rik's usual wry humor sparkled in the dark eyes. "Try not."

Kyp mumbled: "I knew I'd regret telling you that." He found a more comfortable spot – _this mattress is becoming lumpy, Rik will need another one soon_ – and continued. "Like I said, I was scared then. And angry. Anger always comes hand-in-hand with fear. You get scared, you get angry, simple as that, and as natural as eating and shitting."

"How poetic," Rik smirked.

"Thank you. And accurate, from a logical point of view. One is a by-product of the other. We escaped again, but I wasn't able to get rid of this feeling of helplessness anymore. And anger… anger always was close by, just waiting for its chance. Sitting in this detention cell I promised myself I'd never be helpless again. That's why I went to Yavin IV, instead of going here. I broke a promise I made to your grandfather because I wanted to become powerful, to never give anyone any chance to rule my life again."

"Well, I'd say you accomplished that just fine."

"No, not then. What I did then was just the opposite. I was impatient, and I wanted everything, and I wanted it _now_. I wasn't content with the pace Master Skywalker set for our training, I wanted more. Are you starting to notice similarities?"

"Some."

"Huh. _Some._ Well, I got irritated enough that anger took over – not that it was too far as it was. I started to lash out at everyone. It didn't make me happier, but I couldn't help it. How did they dare not listen to me? What the kriff did they know anyway?"

"You're making this up, are you?" Rik asked suspiciously.

Kyp snorted. "If only. Truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The sole difference between you and me at this point is that there is no long-dead Sith Lord to give you that last shove toward the downward slope."

"Yeah, I have you instead."

"Yes, me. The rebound Sith Lord who is going to make frippin' sure you'll not make the same mistakes I did. That's a promise, _gille_." He looked down on the boy's face, which seemed to be almost back to normal now. "I let my anger and Exar Kun rule my life and dictate me what to do. You know how it ended."

"No, I don't," Rik answered suddenly, meeting Kyp's gaze squarely. "I know what you did, yes. But I don't know what made you stop."

"Han did. He came for me and refused to back off, even when I said I'd kill him for standing in my way. I almost did it – almost killed the only friend I had back then. I would be so relieved if I could write it down to Exar Kun's influence, but I know how much of this angry beast was really me. I stopped at the last possible moment, realizing what I had become and what I was about to do."

"Just as I did," Rik whispered.

"Just as you did. But you did it much sooner. I've always thought you're wiser than I am."

The boy shrugged. "If you want to think so. Probably I just have less fuel. So the key is what – not fighting at all? Why did you insist on me getting all this training then?"

Kyp shook his head. "No. Fighting itself isn't an issue. Fighting out of anger is. Anger blinds you, makes you act like a rabid animal that bites left and right without sense, without purpose. But you can't get rid of the anger until you understand and control the fear that's causing you to feel it. That is the root of the problem."

"I see," Rik said quietly.

"I'm glad." Kyp looked at him assessingly. "How are you feeling now?"

"Better. Relieved. Slightly foolish."

The Jedi smiled. "Only slightly?"

"Don't push it," grumbled Rik. "And I still want this tea. Only I'm too wiped to get up."

"I'll make it. Do you have some caf around, by any chance?"

"No. You'll have to suffer."

"The things I have to endure for you… How about sugar?"

"The honey is in the yellow jar. Refined sugars are bad for the health. Don't look at me like that. They are. And, Kyp… wash yourself, please."

"Oh." Kyp touched his face, feeling a crust of dried blood under his fingers. "I completely forgot. Guess this means at least two hours in a healing trance for me before returning to the house."

Rik winced. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up. I goaded you into this."

"You did that on purpose!"

Kyp laughed ruefully. "No. Just let my damn temper run ahead of my brains. I can't say I'm really sorry, though. Sometimes you have to cut open a wound in order to clean it."

They sat in silence for some time, sipping the tea. When Rik spoke again, he asked something that seemed to be completely unrelated to anything they had talked about. "Kyp, do you know a man, a musician, who has dark brown hair, long face, and a big beak-like nose? He's kind of handsome, if you like the type, and he's a bit taller than you."

"Tan," Kyp answered without hesitation. "Tannith Leit. The second kitara in my group. How did you know? I don't remember telling you about him." Then he took a closer look at his nephew's face. "You _saw_ him, didn't you?" Rik nodded. "Tell me."

The boy shrugged. "It's really weird. We were on a stage, you, me, this Tannith and some other people, but I can't remember them clearly. I think mom was there too. I didn't see her, but I had a feeling… somehow I was sure she was there. We were playing and having a pretty good time, I'd say. But I couldn't see the audience. I just had an impression of an enormous space packed up with people. If it was a concert hall it was a damn big one; I've never seen anything like that, even in holovids. I don't remember the music either. We were playing with Tannith, trying to outplay each other, and you were singing."

"So why is it weird then? Granted, I'm not planning to give any public shows in the foreseeable future, but who knows? I'm not saying it's not a possibility."

"The details. They don't match up with anything I know. First of all, our kitaras were different. Different form, different colors, a lot of strange switches on them… weird. Tannith was in some kind of a military uniform which looked like a NR one, but was different, though I can't say exactly how."

"Rik, if you see the details that you're completely not familiar with it's a proof that the vision is true. Your subconscious mind couldn't make it up. Do you have any idea how far in the future it is?"

"Um, not exactly. I didn't see myself and you didn't look all that much different. Probably a bit more grey in your hair, and it was longer than it is now. But…" he smirked, "I was looking down at you. By quite a bit."

Kyp shrugged. "From five to ten years then. Rik, it should be reassuring to you, shouldn't it?"

"Well, now that I am more or less sure I didn't make it up, it is. Still…" the boy frowned.

"Still what?"

"I wasn't singing. You were."

"That doesn't mean you weren't capable of it. Did you feel unhappy?"

"No, quite the opposite, actually." Rik yawned. "Sorry."

"I'd be more surprised if you weren't sleepy after this emotional ride. Go on, catch your z's. I'll need my own two hours in a trance, too."

They were lying on the cot, spent and motionless, and Kyp had begun to think that his nephew had dosed off already when Rik spoke again. "Kyp?"

"Hmmm?"

"How did you cope with all this crap?"

"I assume you mean the voice changes?"

"Yes."

Kyp sighed. At this rate he'd never get his much-needed trance. "Rik, basically speaking, I didn't cope at all. I thought I had lost it. My voice mutation, I mean the acute phase, stretched out to almost two years and after the first one I thought I was finished as a singer."

"Two years?" Rik asked, aghast. "But it's impossible anatomically!"

"Yeah, well, the esteemed stars of medical science said it would be impossible for me to do any fine work with my fingers ever again. I proved the medicine wrong on both counts."

Rik rose on his elbows. "What was wrong with your fingers?"

The Jedi laughed bitterly. "Not just fingers. Seventeen bone breaks on the right hand and nineteen on the left. Fingers, wrist bones, arms – everything. Damaged tendons in several places. Torn muscles. Severed nerves. They had wanted to amputate my hands and replace them with prosthetics until Han announced that he'd personally shoot anyone who said another word about an amputation. Thank the Force for his reputation – they believed him in a heartbeat. Then he went off and brought a surgeon who thought that putting me back together would be a nice, refreshing challenge."

"Of all the fraggin' gods," Rik muttered again. "Are you just trying to make me feel like a whining sissy?

"You asked," Kyp answered mildly. "But I had other things to worry about at the time. Like killing so damn many people, almost killing my teacher and my best friend and, oh, being almost executed twice. And when I started to come out of this and was able to think of something else, I already had your mother to guide me through my fears, snap at me, kick my butt and generally not let me write myself off as a failure. Now would you please just snooze off and let me do something about my face and other body parts? I really would hate having to answer Aren's questions about that."

Rik lay down hastily. "Consider me convinced. Not another word."

**Ariana, 12 years ABY.**

"So you're telling me that he'll just do what he was told and that's all? Forget he was ever interested in Rann Na Móna and call his orders back? That simple?"

"Yes." The answer was delivered along with the slightly annoyed glare of the squinted eyes. Now, in daylight, they were almost completely green, Aren noticed. "That simple. Excluding, of course, the fact that there are only about three people in the galaxy who can do things like that, me included."

"Do brag. What if you're mistaken?"

Kyp pulled their speeder to the side of the street and stopped. "Aren," he said, turning to her. "_I. Am. Not. Mistaken. About. This._ Trust me."

It was said with such fierce conviction that she slumped a bit in her seat. "There is no need to shout," she said with a note of hurt in her voice. He wasn't shouting, but it definitely felt like it. "This is all very weird for me; is that so hard to understand?"

He groaned quietly and dropped his head on his hand, which was clutching the old-fashioned handlebar. "'M sorry," he said through the clenched teeth. "I didn't mean to yell at you. It's just… the last time I did something like that was after I'd run from the Academy. I… I think I told you about that? Qui Xux. The woman who helped us to escape from Daala. I wiped out a good half of her memories. She still hasn't forgiven me. No wonder, that."

Aren was looking at him with her eyebrows drawn together so tightly that they almost became one line. She didn't remember this part of his story. "Why?" she whispered.

He shook his downcast head. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. To make sure that no one would be able to use her knowledge of superweapons. I didn't do anything like this again – until now. But you shouldn't worry about whether it'll work or not. I'm way too good at this."

She sucked a breath slowly and exhaled rapidly. Dealing with her newfound brother was like navigating a boat along the cliffs during a storm. She never knew when another dangerous rock would appear from under the grey murky waters of his psyche. This time she decided to probe a bit deeper. Tiptoeing around issues was becoming tiresome.

"So then, why now?"

He raised his head and looked at her through the squinted eyes. "Why are you asking me all these questions? It hurts, don't you see?"

Aren tried her best not to show any signs of irritation. "Because I want to understand. Wasn't it you who pointed out that it's unfair that I know next to nothing about you?"

"You'd make a marvelous politician," he mumbled under his nose.

She snorted. "Yes, and a spaca wrestler." She waited patiently for the answer, smiling fleetingly at the memory of her unlamented husband saying that her silences should be registered as an interrogation implement.

Kyp conceded. "Why now? To put it shortly, I just don't want to place you and Rik in any danger. This human incarnation of a piranha beetle could have become dangerous when he was going to realize he'd lost. And I don't want to have to kill again." He smiled crookedly. "If there's anything I have good knowledge of, it's about various kinds of scum inhabiting this galaxy and their way of thinking. Any other questions?"

"Just one. Did anyone ask you 'why' before?"

He stared at her with an almost comical incomprehension. "What do you mean, 'why'?"

"Just what I said. Did someone bother to ask why you did this and that?"

"Um…" he was still not sure what she was talking about. "Yes. No. I mean… Luke, errrr, Master Skywalker, did. Kind of. He was there when I needed to talk. Han too. But no, they didn't ask why." He looked at her in confusion. "You know, I never thought of it."

"Why?" she asked with an almost mischievous smile.

Kyp groaned. "All right, you've made your point, even if I'm not sure what point it is exactly. Didn't you have some other plans? I doubt Rik will tolerate his grandparents much longer."

"Or they him. I want to go to the theater and talk with the art director. With any luck, I'll be able to return before the next season is open. It's still more than two months away. I hope he'll believe that I'm able to force myself into the full working form by then."

"Where to?" he asked, powering the speeder.

"It's not far. Third turn to the right from here." Aren leaned back in her seat.

She had to admit that Kyp was an exceptionally good driver. The very heavy traffic of the center of Ariana didn't confuse him at all. Still, any other being in his place would probably allow someone who had actually lived in the city to drive. But he took the driver's seat like it was something that came by default.

It had been the same with Tarten. As soon as they were allowed into his office, Kyp had taken charge, not allowing her to even open her mouth. He had just walked ahead and began telling the heavy bald man in the huge plush chair what to do in a quiet, emotionless voice. It was creepy to hear Tarten repeating what Kyp had said with an accuracy of a recorder and a completely blank expression on his massive face. Less than ten sentences and a couple of strange gestures later, it was over, and he was dragging her out by the hand, still not letting her to do or say anything. Not that she really wanted to, but he didn't even ask. It irked her, and not just a little bit, and the only things that kept her from saying anything unpleasant were the idea that he didn't do it intentionally and her own sense of gratitude.

_Don't yammer, _she told herself sternly. _Remember, less than two weeks ago you were sure you're going to lose your home and now you're not happy with the way he gave it back to you? He can't help being a control freak. You would have been too in his place._

"Turn around this big domed building," she said aloud. "There is a back entrance there, and a place to park."

"How long are you going to be here?"

"Pray it will be long. If I have to sign a contract it could take more than two hours."

"You don't mind if I go and order a new security system for Rann Na Móna?" He was geared up to drive off already, tapping the handlebar impatiently with his long, thin fingers. "I think Tarten has called his orders back by now."

_At least he had a good sense to ask this time. _"Go ahead. I'll meet you in that tapcafe across the square, see?"

"Yes. Comm me if you get out early."

She made a face, but decided that a discussion about her aversion to comlinks could wait. "All right."

"Good luck." The speeder took off, made a graceful arch and somehow disappeared into the thick flow of various vehicles. Aren shook her head; she would have thought it impossible to maneuver even a child's toy ship into that traffic, let alone a full sized speeder. She shrugged. Apparently, her life was going to be full of small and not-so-small miracles from now on.

She could live with that.

**Ariana, 12 years ABY, 3 hours later.**

The weather had worsened during the time she spent in the theater, and the cold wind was whipping her skirt around her legs as if trying to strip it off, but Aren paid no attention to it. Right now even a full-blown thunderstorm couldn't spoil her good mood. It was actually closer to ecstasy.

Her long legs were carrying her through the dense crowd without any involvement from her brain. Only after a couple of minutes did she begin to notice the stares she drew in her wake or the fact that people seemed to give way to her. Her cheek twitched. Once upon a time, at the beginning of her career, she was thriving on such an attention, but it had ceased to amuse her long time ago. The more than two years spent in seclusion of Rann Na Móna had apparently stripped her of the immunity she had cultivated toward their curiosity. Actually, the people on Garos IV were much more unobtrusive than probably on any other planet in the Galaxy, but Tihaz Theater, the biggest and more famous theater in Ariana, always attracted all sorts of fans and celebrity-gawkers.

_Look on the bright side,_ she told herself, _at least it's a proof they didn't forget you. You're still popular._

That was good to know. At last, after years of living a nightmarish existence, her life was back on track. This thought made her much more tolerant to the gapers, and she even smiled to some of them, almost laughing aloud at the startled gratitude at their faces. She was never known for her tolerance for street admirers before.

Within a hundred meters to the tapcafe she finally saw Kyp. He was sitting on the almost empty terrace outside, in the shadow of a huge flower basket, reading something on his datapad. A large collection of cups and small plates on the table was evidence that he had been sitting there for some time already, and he had yet to notice her arrival.

No one seemed to pay any attention to him. Why should they? He was just another teenager in a city full of teenagers. Sure, he was better-looking than average, but nothing about him would have made people look twice. She smiled. _If only they knew._ It seemed he had also done some shopping, since his flight suit was nowhere to be seen. Instead he wore dark blue leggings, a sandy yellow tunic and a vest a couple of shades lighter than the pants.

Aren opened her mouth to call him, but promptly shut it again. 'Kyp' was a fairly common name among human males in the Galaxy, but for some reason it was a rare one on Garos IV. Her calling out to him would be guaranteed to attract attention, and she knew for sure that he wouldn't be thrilled about it.

In fact, being seen with her at the center of Ariana wasn't a prudent thing also if he wanted to stay inconspicuous. But she couldn't do anything about that right now.

At the very moment she decided to resume moving, he raised his head and looked at her. It seemed that the expression on her face told him everything he needed to know, because he gave her a wide smile, which quickly faded when his gaze switched to something behind her back.

Aren squashed an instinctive urge to turn around and look on what had upset him. It was probably just one of her admirers. Or more than one. She shrugged apologetically. He gave her a small wave, indicating that it was all right. To her astonishment, when she got to the terrace, no heads turned in her direction. Aren looked behind. There wasn't even a pair of eyes that was focused on her anymore.

"Whatever it is," she said, pulling out a chair at his table, "can you bottle some for me? The equivalent of a swimming pool will be enough, thank you."

He laughed quietly. "'Fraid not. It's not supposed to be out of the original container."

She looked around. "Are they really not noticing us?"

"They think we're a pair of students. Nothing remarkable." He ate the last bite of a fruit-and-cream cake on his plate and looked longingly at the counter with a wide selection of pastries and cakes in the corner.

"Don't let me stop you," she said with amusement. "You apparently didn't sample all of them yet."

"Actually, I was going to take you to a real dinner somewhere where the quality of food approximately rivals its price. I can't live on sweets alone, as much as I would like to."

"Let me have a cup of tea and we can do it. Do you have something specific in mind? I think we can allow ourselves to be a little bit extravagant today."

"No, nothing specific. I'm not picky. So what exactly are we celebrating?"

The waitress arrived at their table right at this moment, and Kyp had to wait for an answer while Aren was giving precise instructions about the kind and the quality of tea she wanted to the young girl. The waitress seemed to be no more than thirteen and fairly inexperienced, so the process was taking some time.

Kyp picked up his datapad again, deciding to read a little while his sister was giving her lecture on the different sorts of tea and the various ways to prepare them. It was not a subject he was interested in.

A mildly exasperated "Kyp!" jarred him out of his concentration some minutes later. Judging by a cup that was steaming before Aren, it had been quite a few minutes later.

"What are you so absorbed in?" she asked. "A novel?"

He snorted. "Hardly. It's a pilot's manual to Corellian Action VI Transport. It's an old big pile of junk and as maneuverable as a dead rancor, but I might have to pilot one soon."

"Huh. I thought you were reading some fiction."

"I tried that a couple of times but it was boring. Most of these guys don't have a clue what they are writing about. Their description of piloting alone made me want to retch, not to mention silly love scenes. And there are too many things I have to learn, so it's either one or the other."

"Are you a good pilot?"

His face assumed a humble expression. "Honestly?"

"Well of course." Only now she noticed his slightly twitching lips.

"Um, well…" He dropped his eyes. She might have believed his feigned modesty if not for this mischievous twitch. He suddenly raised them again. They were full of merriment. "On of the top three in the Galaxy. At the very least."

She whistled. "Are you sure you're not overestimating yourself?"

He shrugged. "It's not my estimation. It's Han's. He thinks I'm about tied up with him and Luke. Right now if we were in a race they'd probably win, since they have a lot more experience than I do. In five years or so, though… we'll see." He reached out and placed a finger under her chin, closing her mouth gently. "Don't be so surprised. I'm exceptional, even for a Jedi. A freak of Nature, a black zero in spinnerpit roulette. It's a reality, even if sometimes I don't like it at all."

She drank the rest of her tea and put her cup back on the table without a sound. "Listen, it was stupid of me not to ask earlier, but it's something that occurred to me only when I was going to call you and realized I probably shouldn't use your name in public. Do you have another name? If father adopted you he should have given you a Seighne name."

He tensed instantly and Aren wondered what underwater rock she had managed to hit this time. It had seemed to be a fairly innocent question.

"Yes," Kyp answered reluctantly. "He did."

"Well," she prompted, when he didn't elaborate on that. "You know you have to tell me eventually. We'll have an adoption ceremony sooner or later."

"I know." He sighed. "It's Rodion."

"Rodion," she repeated slowly, as if testing the name on her tongue. "'Singing hero'. It's a rare name… and a very strong one. Never given lightly." Then the realization hit her with a force of a landslide. "It _wasn't_ given lightly, was it?"

"No," he answered in a strangled voice.

"You can sing, can't you? In addition to everything else, you are a singer too." _Gods. Exceptional, indeed!_

"I _could_."

"Past tense. What happened?"

"Listen," he said in a voice that was a little too even for her liking. "We better take this somewhere else. I promised to tell you, but I'd rather not to have this conversation in a public place."

It was a sensible request, but something was bothering her in the manner he said it. She already knew that when his expressive face became this vacant it wasn't a good sign. "Let's pay the check and go somewhere. You said you wanted a dinner?"

"Not anymore," he answered in the same unnaturally calm voice. "And if you want to know about that, you better listen to it before a meal, too. It's a story not exactly suitable for a dinner conversation." He threw her a quick slanted look. "Still want to know?"

"Yes. Stop trying to scare me. I'm not a hothouse flower, in case you didn't gather this yet!"

"Fine. It's your call."

His choice of location for this talk surprised her. It was a small, secluded park near the ocean. It wasn't popular or well known, but it was the one her father used to take her sometimes at the weekends, when she was still in the school. She realized that Kyp had probably driven them there by their father's description alone. After all, it wasn't any trickier than finding the entrance to Rann Na Móna. But why he chose it? They passed about five other parks on their way there.

They left the speeder and walked toward a thin strip of the beach in silence. Kyp refused to sit on any of the benches, choosing a spot on the ash grey sand that was just out of a reach of the waves. "I like the water," he said quietly, answering her unspoken question. "The more the better. It reminds me of Deyer. I think I learned how to swim before I learned how to walk."

"If you want, we can go to Zila," she said quietly. "You can swim as much as you want there."

"Probably later."

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, then Kyp said determinedly: "All right, let's get this over with. I did have a good voice, as you guessed, and I loved singing. Music was the only real pleasure that was available for me on Kessel, my only passion. Still is. Don't get me wrong, I like being a Jedi, but it's different. It feels like something that I _ought _to do, instead of something that I _love_ to do. When I was singing, it seemed the world around was coming together with the perfection of an emeraude crystal, even in the stinking filth of the Kessel prison. And father was sure I'd retain my voice even after the maturation, in the same strange fashion he was sometimes sure of this or that. But, as I said, my growth process was all messed up. My voice started changing when I was… well, over fifteen, certainly. About two years ago. You know as well as I do that that's awfully late."

"It's late, yes, but there is nothing that says it wouldn't be normal. Did you…"

"_Aren_. Stop asking questions, please. I'll tell you everything – just stop kriffin' _asking_!" He licked his lips nervously. "Sorry. But please, listen first, ask questions later. You'll understand why in a minute. Deal?"

She nodded, feeling a bit guilty for pressing him.

"The change was well underway when we escaped. I know I told you that I was interrogated in the Maw Installation, but do you understand what it means? I'm talking about a full-blown Imperial interrogation here."

"Full interrogation?" she asked with lips that suddenly went very dry. "You mean… torture?"

"Yes. I didn't know anything that would have been of any use to them, but they refused to believe me. Not until they put me through the full range of an interrogation droid. I screamed myself hoarse after the first fifteen minutes – it was worse than that whipping. At least the son of a bitch on Kessel didn't inject me with a drukload of endorphin suppressants and will-breaking drugs before starting. I screamed my throat raw well before they were through, which took some time. And all this while my voice was still changing."

Aren opened her mouth, but quickly closed it again, remembering what she had promised just couple of minutes ago. But he still noticed.

"Thanks. I think I know what you wanted to ask. Yes, I did try to sing after some time – about a month or more, when I was on Coruscant."

It wasn't exactly what she wanted to say, but she didn't want to interrupt him again. Kyp continued. "It was awful. Really awful. I couldn't manage a proper pitch at all. But it wasn't as raspy as I feared, so I decided to wait a bit more and try again later. I was a bit preoccupied at the time. Let's skip my screw-up with the Dark Side. It's not important right now." He looked at her and, to her astonishment, she saw a lot of moisture in his eyes and a glimpse of something that could have probably been guilt.

"I, um, left out some things when I was telling you about this little pet play with a Death Star I had had in the Maw. Particularly how I got out. You see, Sun Crusher was supposed to be indestructible. So there was no need for a rescue capsule. There wasn't any. And, frankly, I didn't even think about that when I was getting into it. I knew it was a suicide from the very beginning. I can't even tell you why I did what I did… not that I wanted to live all that much at the moment anyway…" he inhaled painfully. "To cut a long story short, I had to use a postal capsule. It was a cylinder roughly a meter and a half long and half a meter wide."

At first Aren couldn't even comprehend what he was talking about. "You had to use it… for what?" she asked stupidly.

"For getting myself the kriff out of the Sun Crusher, what else do you think I did with it?"

"But… but it's impossible! You're slight, yes, but still… meter and a half by half?"

"From the outside, yeah, and no lifesaving equipment, of course. You wanted to know. I'm asking you again now – do you still want to?"

"Yes," she answered numbly.

He shook his head. "You are as stubborn as a Wookiee. There is a Jedi technique, a sort of a trance that allows you to block pain – for some time, at least, and enough to stay conscious. I used it to get myself into this capsule. I had to break almost every bone in my body save for the backbone and the skull in order to do it. Legs first, then ribs, then hands. Aren!"

She suddenly remembered the soft, wet crunch of a bone she heard when she broke her leg at the age of eleven. Times ten. Times twelve. Times thirty. And he had to do it himself. To himself. The sheer atrocity of such a pinnacle of self-mutilation in the name of survival was so outside her comprehension that a sharp, throbbing pain flared up in her temples, splitting her brain apart. She felt light-headed and for a long, spinning moment she was afraid she would faint there and then.

Strong hands grasped her shoulders, shaking her. "Aren! What's wrong? Oh, sithspit. Hold on." His slightly husky voice seemed to be wrapped in a thick layer of wool. The hands withdrew and in a moment later her face and shoulders were splashed with a dose of cold, salty water. She almost yelped in surprise, but it helped. The pain ebbed a bit and the strange feeling of disconnection faded, leaving behind exhaustion very akin to the one that comes after a bout of nausea.

"Gods," she panted out. "Sweet blessed Mother Of All. Don't ever let me hurt you, do you hear me? Ever." She moved to the edge of the water on her hands and knees, since she still wasn't sure getting up was the best idea and splashed some on her face.

Kyp was staying ankle-deep in the water, looking at her with regret mixed with no small amount of amusement. "Does it mean I shouldn't let you ask me questions?" he asked with a dose of levity that was hard for her to comprehend at this particular moment.

"If they are hurting you? Yes."

He chuckled. "Forget it. I wouldn't know before you ask and after you ask there is no point in knowing. What set you off so badly? It's not a pretty story, sure, but you are not, I quote, a hothouse flower. After everything else I'd told you…"

"It's not that," she interrupted him. "I'd like dearly to spend a couple of hours with every one of your torturers –I'm sure I can find ways to amuse myself with them – but yes, I know life isn't always pretty. It's just… I can't imagine how _anyone_ can do something like this to himself. That you had to do it, it's… it's just beyond awful. I can't help it, it goes against everything in me, against everything I hold dear."

"Oh yes. Your religion. I never quite understood it."

"Not only that. I don't know how to explain it to you…"

"You can explain later, if you want. I'm not finished yet." He noticed that she was shivering a bit. "Getting cold? We can move to a bench."

"Gonadh," she said with a feeling, rubbing her temples. "Right now I'd give a lot for a drink that burns its way through your body, empty stomach and all. I don't suppose you can produce another small, but handy miracle?"

He smiled. "Sorry, sis, it ain't working like that."

"No? Pity."

"Should I continue or should we skip that and go for the dinner?"

"No. No, no, no. You still didn't answer the original question. And I suppose neither of us want to go through this talk twice. I was just… taking a break. And it's over now."

"As you wish."

They sat on a bench that looked like a giant stony yolkless egg cut in half. It covered them from the wind that was getting stronger, and he continued: "Han managed to fish me out before the capsule got sucked in the hole and before I used all the air inside." He smiled fondly. "Somehow he's always been there when I badly needed someone to pull me out of a really, really dire situation. Actually, he thought I was dead and went to all this trouble just for the dubious pleasure to hear my last words. When they extracted me from the cylinder, I was conscious just long enough to assure him I'd be all right, which, judging by his face, didn't sound convincing at all. After that I went back into the trance and he took off like a banshee bird whose tail is on fire to get me to a bacta tank. He hoped I'd be able to hold on until we reached Coruscant, but halfway through I, apparently, begun to slip away, so he hurried up to the rendezvous point and transported me to _Yavaris_, where they just dumped me into a tank without running any diagnostics. As they said, at this point it was a matter of life or death and everything else could have waited. They were right, I suppose, even if I had to live through sheer hell later because of this decision…"

Aren's eyebrows drew together. "What do you mean? Bacta is supposed to cure everything, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. Theoretically. The problem is, different injuries heal at different rates. Skin and muscles heal quicker than bones, and nerves are the slowest of the lot. And they didn't have time to align my broken bones, or sew up the muscles, and did I mention nerves? So by the time they brought me to the Manarai Medicenter I was a mess of healed, partially healed and, most of all, incorrectly healed injuries. The surgeon that Han brought in after pretty much everybody else gave up on me said I was the most entertaining jigsaw puzzle he ever saw in his life."

Aren gagged.

"Hey, not again!"

"'M all right," she assured him quickly. "But sweet Mother, I think this man is a cold fish!"

Kyp chuckled. "No, actually he's not. He just likes to play the heartless pro that doesn't know the meaning of the word 'tact'. If not for him, I would have been a cripple right now. But you're probably wondering what this has to do with my voice. It's all about hormones, you see. They had to patch me up step-by-step and most of the time they couldn't use bacta 'cause it might have healed something that wasn't supposed to be healed yet. So they used the red mist instead. Do you know what is it?"

"No."

"It was trendy during the days of the Empire. It's still used when they can't apply bacta for some reason; only it's called narco-mist now. It's a mix of narcotics for pain relief and hormones for speeding up the healing. It wasn't an ideal solution either, but at least it was relatively painless. The real fun begun when they had to increase my physical therapy. Apparently, I'd become a little too tolerant to most strong painkillers by then. Gah. That's when I begun to think that staying alive hadn't been a particularly wise decision."

"How long?"

"Two or three months – well, after that I practically blackmailed Han and Luke to sign me off and take me to Yavin IV. I trusted Clighal way more than I trusted these eggheads who never seemed to agree even on the color of a bluefruit. It appears that I was a unique case – theoretically speaking, I wasn't supposed to be alive at all – so after I _did_ survive they crowded on me like vulture hawks. All in the name of science, of course. Pretty much the only thing they all agreed upon was that all these hormones in the red mist had messed up my already shaky hormonal balance. It would be some time before my body started to produce enough of them by itself, since it got used to being fed them by a spoon. So um…" his cheeks suddenly went pink, which amused Aren immensely. She understood where he was heading already.

He stammered. "Oh kriff! In other words, I'm still in damn puberty and will be for Force knows how long! And I don't even want to know what are my vocal chords look like now!"

"In other words," she said, deliberately echoing him, "you don't know for sure if you lost it or not, you're just afraid to try."

"Yes! I don't know when it'll be vapin' over! I tried a couple of times, and it didn't work and I don't know what's wrong! What if there is still some small chance left? What if I try and just screw it up again from over usage or whatever? "

She stood up. "That's enough. Come on."

"What?"

"I said come on!" She grabbed his hand and practically dragged him back to the speeder. "Oh, no, you don't!" she said with exasperation when he tried to reclaim his hand and move to the driver's seat. "You will have to reconcile yourself with sitting on the passenger's seat, my dear control freak!"

"What?"

"You're becoming repetitive. Do you even realize that since you came here all you were doing was practically dragging me along for the ride, even when it wasn't needed at all? Well, little brother, guess what? You don't have to be the one in charge all the time! And right now I know what to do and you do not!"

"Now wait a minute!" He cringed under her fierce stare. "All right, all right, I'll sit in the passenger's seat, no big deal. Just tell me what's it all about!"

She looked at him and snickered despite herself. "You're so cute when you're dumbfounded. May your Force help you if any of your future girlfriends discover that. Now answer one more question, please. Do you trust me?"

"Yes, of course, but…"

"No buts." She powered the speeder and took off, speeding it gently toward the busy streets of Ariana again. "I trusted you to take care of my problem. Now please trust me to take care of yours. Your problem is my problem, after all, and the other way around."

"You don't play fair, you know?"

"Just about the only fair thing I have is my hair. I didn't know you cared about fairness."

He snorted. "Not particularly. And my version of fair is pretty dark anyway. Are you going to tell me where are we going or not? I hope it includes some food?"

"Sorry, baby. I'll take you to dinner later, I promise, but it's the last working day of the week. You'll have to wait an hour or two until we are finished. Now listen to me, please. Do you really want to continue to live with this fear?"

He shuddered. "I don't know. I think it might probably be better than knowing for sure that I've lost it."

"Believe me," she said with conviction, "there is nothing worse than living in a constant fear."

"I know! I was living in nothing but fear for almost ten years!"

"So why are you fighting it then?"

"Because I like to live without a hope even less!" He suddenly fell silent, looking at her with such surprise, as if she suddenly grew out a second head and a couple of limbs to boot.

She smiled. "Truth time, yeah?"

"You can say so," he answered slowly. "I'm beginning to see where you are going with your 'whys'. It's a false hope, isn't it? Just an illusion of a one, yes?"

"Hope is when you can change something about a situation or someone can change it for you. Can you change anything in this case?"

"No."

"Right. What you're doing is not changing, it's stalling. Can someone else change anything?"

"No. At least not that I can think of."

"Right again. You can't. But _I _can. Let's see if there is something that can be changed and how many of your fears are true. I'm taking you to a doctor, Kyp. A doctor who has been specializing for more than thirty years in every little problem singers can have with their vocal chords. She was one of father's friends. Did he tell you that he lost his voice for almost two years when he was thirty?"

"He mentioned it, yes, but he didn't tell any details."

"She was the one who restored it. It took two years, but she did it. Now listen to me. I'm going to tell her some of the truth. I'm going to tell her that I received a letter about dad's death and introduce you as my brother, under your Seighne name. She's most probably going to assume that he fathered you on some of his get-aways after my mom's death. I know he did have a couple of them and she knows it too. I hope you're not picky about being considered an illegitimate child?"

"Couldn't have cared less."

"Thought so. You don't have to tell her all the grisly details, but please, don't withhold the important bits. It all falls under the confidentiality law, anyway. I'll be present, if you want."

"I don't know about this. Let's just wait and see."

"All right. And the last thing. I don't know if she's busy right now. We may have to wait. Can you do this thing again – make them think we're someone else? Seems that my face is not as forgotten as I thought."

He smirked. "I noticed. Don't worry about this. I'm cloaking as a habit; no one will look at me twice unless I want them to."

"I was talking about me, not you."

"Doesn't matter. Just stay close."

"Where is your lightsaber?"

He patted his vest. "Here."

"Leave it in the speeder. It's a secured building. Unless you know how to fool metal detectors?"

"I know how to fool them, but I'd rather not. It requires some supplies." He opened a small compartment before the passenger's seat and put his weapon there. When he leaned back, he saw that his sister lifted up her skirt almost up to her hips.

"What are you doing?" he almost squeaked.

She laughed aloud. "You thought you're the only one who carries weapons here?"

Only now he noticed that she had a thin stiletto strapped to one leg and a holdout blaster to the other. They went to the same compartment and she shrugged somewhat sheepishly. "Old habit. I don't feel secure in public places when unarmed."

"Oh. I forgot. You did buy a drukload of trouble because of that at the school, didn't you?"

"Once or twice, yes. Got almost expelled for this. Father had to beg and grovel so they would take me back. They eventually decided to write it off as a family tradition. Being from an Old Clan sometimes comes handy. Kyp?"

"What?"

"Can you please tone down your swearing a bit? I appreciate an opportunity to learn something new," she said sarcastically, "but this is an inconvenient habit to have."

He looked surprised. "I was swearing?"

"Quite a lot."

"Flarg."

"Exactly."

This time it was his turn to look sheepish. "It's, um, actually, the most innocent part of what I know in this area. The rest comes up handy in spaceports and other interesting places. But I'll do it, thanks for calling me on that. It seems that I've became a little too comfortable around you."

"I don't mind, baby, but others might. And then there's Rik…"

"Oh, Rik. Listen, is this all right that we're spending so much time out? He seemed to be pretty unhappy when we left."

She made a face. "I called from the theater, although I hate comm calls. Denars said he'd calmed down and seems to be interested in exploring a new place. Which is good. I signed a contract today, so we'll be apart a lot of time from now on."

"You still didn't tell me how your meeting went, by the way."

"Huh, I thought I did."

"You said you'd signed a contract, nothing more. I'd appreciate some details."

She pulled the speeder to a stop. "Later. We are here."

It was a cylindrical building, the tallest one in this part of the city, although it was quite short by Coruscant standards. Its outer walls were made from some sort of translucent glass. It had some blotchy effect in it, which gave the building an appearance of being made from aged steel, the one that was sometimes used in creating the old-fashioned dead blades. They didn't encounter any problems passing the security droid at the entrance and Aren hurriedly led the way to the beginning of a spiral moving path that ran through the entire inner space of the building from the bottom to the top.

Kyp looked around and whistled quietly. The whole center of the structure was filled with a wide variety of hanging gardens. There were virtually thousands of them, from small flower baskets to platforms big enough to bear artfully groomed trees. He didn't even want to consider how much meticulous, loving work was invested in this kind of luxury.

"I imagine this doctor doesn't exactly come cheap?"

Aren chuckled. "Of course not. She's one of a kind. But if you're wondering what it will cost us, stop it. She will never take money from me or you, don't even suggest that to her. I told you, she's a friend." She sighed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just that despite the fact that we thought father was dead, to hear it confirmed will be a huge blow to Luinn. She loved him for a long time, probably all her life. I think it is why she has never married. Dad loved her too, but only as a friend. I don't think he was serious – I mean, romantically - about any of women in his life after mom's death."

"He never talked about her," Kyp said quietly. "Said it hurt too much to remember. Do you remember her?"

"No. I was less than a year old when she was killed. It was an accident, a stupid, random traffic accident. Father… he went kind of crazy for a while, refusing to accept it. Luinn helped a lot then, tending to me because he was incapable at the time. Apparently, I even thought for some time that she was my mother, or so I've been told. I don't remember that too, but she always treated me more like her own daughter than just a friend's kid. She even offered me to pay the debt for Rann Na Móna, or at least a part of it, but I refused."

"Why?"

"She's well-established, but not _that_ rich. It would have left her broke. And then there was Tarten…"

"I thought so. So I can trust her?"

"Absolutely. Oh."

"What?"

"She'll probably freak out even from seeing me here. As far as she knows, I'm still confined in Rann Na Móna. I should have probably called her."

"Did you say you hate comlinks?"

"Never could tolerate them. Talking on a comm seems so soulless."

"But if she knows that, she would freak out about you calling her too," Kyp said reasonably.

She tugged playfully at one of the black wisps around his head and he butted her hand off just as good-humoredly. "Hey, I _can_ be smart sometimes!"

They passed another small garden, with a multitude of small white-blue flowers dangling from an elaborate ceramic bowl. Kyp stroked one of the flowers gently with his finger and smiled when the chalice opened wide, as if welcoming his touch.

"Tell me, what is the deal with you people here and your architecture?" he asked suddenly. "There are practically no right angles around, at least in the center; every building is either rounded or curved. And this obsession with moving paths! What's wrong with elevators?""

She shrugged. "Just a tradition. We have never been overpopulated; land was relatively cheap, until recently, and curves are more aesthetic. It has already begun to change, though, at least since the Empire took over. With the current trends I doubt this tradition will last," she said with regret. "And really, would you prefer to be confined in an elevator to seeing all this? What difference does a minute or two make if it grants you an opportunity to appreciate beauty?"

He gave her a look that was a strange mixture of understanding and irritation. "I would have preferred to have an alternative. I'm not up to appreciating beauty at every given moment."

Aren made a face. "There are some elevators here for the pragmatists like you. But I wouldn't use them and, more importantly, Luinn never will. This way we can see her if she decides to leave."

"Ah."

"Come on, it's this floor."

She led him to a dark metal door and quickly entered a combination of numbers and letters on the attached pad, then pressed her thumb to a small glass window. Kyp wiped his suddenly moist palms on his tunic. Aren turned to him.

"You said you like water?" He nodded. "You are going to get your wish." She smiled at him encouragingly.

He was just going to ask her what she meant, when the door chimed softly and opened, bathing them in the soft, undulating beams of blue-tinged sunlight. Kyp's eyes widened. "Wow!"

Aren laughed. "I don't believe I'd heard this particular exclamation from you before. Like it?"

He looked around, mesmerized. "What's not to like here?"

Inside the large, semi-circular waiting room, the entire wall facing the door was an aquarium. It was at least a meter thick, and filled with various sea creatures and plants. "Wow," he repeated. "I didn't see anything like this even in the Imperial Palace." He put his palms on the glass and leaned closer, following a small school of flat, pearl-like fish with his eyes. "If your friend is busy, I'm not going to complain."

As soon as he had spoken, an embossed metal panel on the other side of the room slid open and a tall, dark-haired woman burst into the room.

"Aren!" exclaimed she. "What happened?"

Aren stepped forward and hugged her. "A lot, Luinn. A lot happened. Are you busy?"

"No. I was just looking over some records."

"Can we talk with you?"

"We?"

For all that Aren knew he _was_ there, she actually had to look twice to find Kyp. Somehow he managed to blend himself into the shadows in the dimmest part of the room. "Stop this," she hissed at him quietly and dragged him into the light. She was beginning to understand what he meant by 'cloaking'.

"Yes, we," she said to the other woman. "Can we go inside, Luinn? I think we have to sit down for this talk."

The doctor's working room was as different from the tranquil, soothing atmosphere of the waiting room as one could get. There, the whole outer wall was taken by a huge window, which stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The space was almost empty, save for two cream-colored sofas that sat facing each other and a low table between them. The only thing that gave some inkling about the room's intended use was a strange device sitting in the far corner – part computer station, part diagnostic center, with a multitude of strange-looking pieces of medical equipment attached to it. Kyp wiped his sweaty palms on his pants again. Nervousness was starting to play some strange tricks with his guts, as if just being tired and hungry wasn't enough.

Aren's small, warm hand found his clammy one and gently tugged it, making him sit on one of the sofas. She sat beside him and squeezed his hand lightly without releasing it. It was obviously a comfort gesture and for a minute he felt torn between gratitude and irritation from being treated like a scared child.

Apparently, his sister felt it, because he saw the corners of her lips lifting in a slightly mocking smile. She gave him one last squeeze and released his hand, turning to the doctor, who was sitting on the other sofa, looking on this interplay with interest.

"I have news, Luinn, some good, some bad. First of all, no, I didn't sell Rann Na Móna. It's still mine and will remain mine, I hope."

"But how…"

"Let's not talk about this now, all right? It's not my secret. But the debt is paid, at least for now, and I'm free to do whatever I want with my life. Tarten was dealt with too."

The doctor's big brown eyes widened. "And you're not going to tell me how in Mother's name you managed to accomplish this?"

Aren's smile became slightly mischievous. "No. Not yet, at least."

"Right. See if I'll share even a tiny bit of gossip with you now. Ungrateful girl." She smiled. "Well, I assume that was good news. What is the bad one?"

"I received a letter," Aren answered somberly. "Dad is dead, Luinn."

The dark-haired woman paled visibly. "When? Where? How?"

Aren turned to Kyp slightly, as if indicating that it was his turn to speak. He looked at her, confused; he thought she would carry on this talk by herself, at least until his participation would become absolutely necessary. But she gave him a slight nod, confirming that she wanted him to tell the story.

He pulled nervously at the piece of syntherope that he had wrapped around his arm atop the sleeve – a habit he picked from Kirana Ti – and made himself to look into the frantic brown eyes across the table.

"Almost two years ago, Luinn. He died in his sleep, probably from heart failure."

"Are you sure? Could there be some mistake?"

"No. I saw him dead."

Luinn looked at him through the narrowed eyes. "You did?"

"Yes."

She turned to Aren, evidently not convinced, and asked her, in Seighne: "Aren, who is this boy? Why do you believe him?"

Kyp flinched.

Aren's palm found his own again and clasped it firmly. Her face assumed a tightly drawn, formal expression. In even, controlled voice, she answered: "Let's make it formal." She stood, pulling Kyp up with her. "Luinn Meara, let me introduce you to my brother, Rodion Segan."

Kyp raised his head and met the astonished gaze squarely, He would be damned if he had let Aren down in this. He had no idea what the accepted protocol was in such cases, but his months of living in the Solo household hadn't been wasted on him. Though Leia's lessons in formal etiquette had not been intended for him, he had learned them nonetheless.

"I am happy to make your acquaintance," he said in a neutral, calm voice, also in Seighne, watching with some degree of satisfaction as the doctor's face begun to suffuse with dark pink color.

"Oh," she breathed out through the fist pressed to her mouth. "Oh. How in the name of all holy I didn't catch this before?" She sprang from the sofa and went to him, taking his face in her hands. "Same hair, same cheekbones. Different eyes and lips, thought."

"I told you I have good news too," Aren said with a small laugh.

"What a news!" She trailed her forefinger along Kyp's brow. "Rik's son. What a miracle. I am glad to make your acquaintance too, Rodion Segan."

"Make it Rodi, please."

"All right. But I still… well, why he didn't tell us about you – that I can understand." She smiled ruefully. "Silly man, as if we'd judge him for that. But you said he died almost two years ago. So why didn't you come here earlier? Why didn't he let us know somehow what happened to him?"

This time Aren took the initiative of answering this question – mostly because Kyp had no idea what to answer. _Sorry, we didn't have a comm in the mines of Kessel? Sorry, I was too busy blowing up stars to get here earlier?_

"Luinn, why wouldn't we talk about this later? I know the answer to both questions, but I'd rather spare Rodi having to answer them again. It's a very painful subject for him."

They could see that the older woman still wasn't fully convinced, but it seemed that she would let the matter rest. Or not. She was noticeably wavering, torn between her good manners and the desire to find out more about the death of the man she loved.

Kyp wasn't going to let her ask more questions. He had just about as much of that today as he could tolerate from Aren. Some distraction was in order. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to bother, but can I have some caf… and something to eat would be great too. We skipped a dinner getting here."

That had the desired effect. Appealing to Luinn's host duties was a sure bet; there was no way she would disregard such a straight request. But when she disappeared behind a sliding door in order to bring the drinks and food herself, since her assistant had gone home already, he sank back on the couch and shook his head in disgust.

"That's just not right. She deserves better."

"What do you mean?"

"She wants to know and she has the right to know and we didn't tell her anything. And now we're going to ask her to do us a favor and we're going to give her nothing in return. It's not right."

"No, it isn't. Would you prefer to tell her everything? I don't think she'd judge you or throw you out or something such."

"You don't think! You don't think! Do you have any idea what it's like to see people shrink back in revulsion each time upon hearing your name? I'm so bloody tired of it! They don't even know me, but they recoil like I'm a plague! I just want to live a normal life, to be able to talk with people, is it so much to ask? I'm so tired of being reminded that I am the killer of Carida each vapin' time I talk with somebody, as if I don't remember that twenty four hours a day, five days in a standard week!"

Suddenly he was shaking, on the verge of tears. Aren's hands descended on his shoulders and tugged him sideways, and then his head was pillowed on her breast and she was stroking his hair and whispering in his ear: "Shhhh, baby. Shhhh. You don't have to tell her anything. Calm down."

He sobbed in her dress. "I don't know what the kriff is wrong with me."

"Nothing. You just had too much on your plate today. I'm surprised you didn't break down earlier. You can't be tougher than granite all the time. Relax, I've got you."

They sat like that for a minute or two, while Kyp was sobbing quietly in her shoulder. "I shouldn't have brought you here today," she said suddenly. "My mistake. You make it so easy to forget…"

"…that I'm a bloody freak?"

"Shut up. You're as much a bloody freak as I'm Nomi Sunrider. No, I meant it's easy to forget you have limits, too. You're only seventeen, after all."

He yawned and covered his mouth sheepishly. "Sorry. Damn sleepiness."

"If you want, we can just say our goodbyes and go home. I'll drive."

"No, it's nothing. It'll pass as soon as I have some caf. We're already here, it'd be stupid to leave now. Who knows what might happen tomorrow."

She sighed. "Fine. Listen, I'll handle the talk. You concentrate on calming down, getting some caf and staying awake."

"Uh-huh."

In less than thirty seconds after this optimistic reassurance Kyp's body went limp and heavy at her side. Aren smiled. So much for staying awake. She carefully laid him sidelong on the sofa, tucking his legs close to the backrest, and sat back on the other couch. He didn't even stir or murmur during her manipulations.

The door whispered behind her. "I see someone couldn't wait for his caf." Luinn stopped a small repulsor-tray near the sofa. "Help yourself." She squatted in front of Kyp and listened to his breath pattern, then chuckled. "I always envied a teenagers' ability to drop off in two seconds top no matter the circumstances."

"Well, he's had a tiring day," Aren said a little defensively.

"I bet. It's he who dealt with Tarten, isn't it?"

Aren considered the older woman's words carefully. Luinn face was neutral – too neutral, in fact, as if she was asking about the weather outside. "Just how much did you overhear?"

"Everything, I'm afraid. I didn't have time to tell you – I got a speaker system installed here. Have to keep my assistants in check, make sure they are treating the clientele properly. I didn't meant to eavesdrop, if it's any comfort; I just forgot to turn it off. After the first ten seconds I didn't want to. And after I realized who you brought on my couch I couldn't do it even if I wanted to – I was unable to move for at least two minutes."

"There goes his anonymity," Aren said resignedly.

"You should know me better than that, Aren Segan," Luinn said sharply. She looked at Kyp, who was dead to the world, face relaxed and mouth half-open. "He's certainly not what I had expected."

"What had you expected, precisely?" bristled Aren. "A two-meter-tall thug with a bloodlust written all over his dumb-as-a-rock face?"

Luinn laughed. "The way the Coruscant media described him, it wouldn't be far off the mark." She shrugged. "I don't know what I expected, really, but not that. Not an embodiment of every motherly instinct with a face of a holostar. Very appealing, very touching, but… why did you introduce him as your brother? You should know better than fool around with such words."

"I knew we wouldn't be able to put you off for long," murmured Aren.

"The real story now, please. Why did you?"

"Because he is. We didn't lie to you, Luinn." She reached behind her neckline and pulled out her father's letter. "Read this. It'll answer a lot of your questions."

In a couple of minutes the older woman returned the fried piece of flimsy with shaking hand. "So he's really dead. I didn't want to believe it. Kessel, gods. What a place to die!"

"What a place to live," Aren answered grimly.

"Indeed. Does Kyp know where he is buried? We can transport his body home."

Aren laughed bitterly. "You think too much of these rascals."

"So they robbed us even of this option."

They sat in a grim silence for some time, then Luinn spoke again. "So what is this favor that you were going to ask from me?"

"That's something of a long story. Let's hope I'll be able to finish it before he wakes up."

She managed that without any difficulty. By the end of her tale Kyp was still sleeping soundly, which gave Luinn time to make a fresh pot of caf. This time she tried to make as much noise as she could while coming into the room. Dropping the tray on the table from the safe height of five centimeters or so finally did the trick. As usual, Kyp woke up instantly, going from sleep to full awareness in a split second. He sat up on the sofa, folding his legs under himself and surveyed both women, who were looking at him with barely hidden smiles, causing him to cover his rapidly reddening face with his hands and let out a fairly impressive stream of something that Aren was willing to bet was more suitable for a spaceport cantina on some Outer Rim planet than for a respectable doctor's office. At this point she gave up the effort to hide her smirk.

"At least this time it wasn't Basic or Seighne. What language was it, exactly?"

He blushed even more, realizing his lapse. "It's Corellian. And don't you even ask me for a translation. I don't think it's anatomically possible. How long was I asleep?"

"Forty minutes or so," answered Luinn. "Your sister was filling me on your situation meanwhile. By the way, Rodi, do you know that caf isn't the safest thing to drink for your vocal chords?"

He slanted a quick glance toward Aren and she gave him a reassuring smile. Sometimes not knowing could be a blessing. Luinn was willing to play along, thank the Mother, and she was firmly of the opinion that a person shouldn't take more than a person could take.

Kyp, satisfied, turned back to Luinn. "Yeah?"

"Yes. At the very least, be moderate about the amount you are consuming and don't drink the cheap stuff. Now, do you mind answering some of my questions while you're eating?"

He didn't mind, of course. It was surprisingly easy, since Luinn kept it all very business-like, not asking any details that weren't directly related to the subject at hand. However, when he begun to tell her about his fears that his voice could have been forever damaged as a result of his experience with Daala's interrogation droids, she all but laughed outright.

"Rik told you that, didn't he? I remember, he did have this belief that a single instance of overusage can cause some horrible damage during the male voice mutation."

"It doesn't?"

"No. It's a very common, but very irrational belief that most singers of his generation shared. Speaking from a medical point of view, it's about as true as a childish fear of some horrible creature that is going to snatch you in the dark, unseen and undetected." Luinn chuckled, but her merriment died a quick death with one look at the young face across the table.

"Just how much you are willing to bet that such a creature doesn't exist?" Kyp asked her with poisonous sweetness.

"Rodi!" It was Aren. "Don't you start with your preferable approach for earning money here!"

"Preferable approach?" asked Luinn.

"He likes to earn money by making bets. The most disgusting thing is that he usually wins them."

"Hey, where's the fun in betting to lose?" He turned back to the doctor. "Well. All cracks aside, I can assure you that such a creature exists, although, thank the gods, not on this planet. I know it from personal experience. Almost got killed by one."

"Let me put it this way," Luinn said seriously. "In all my fairly extensive practice I never encountered something like this, nor did I hear of any documented, clinically proven cases. As far as I'm concerned, it's one of these things that always happens to a cousin of a neighbor's friend, but no one is able to tell you what the poor guy's name is."

"A myth, in other words."

"Yes."

Aren could see that Kyp still wasn't convinced, but, apparently, he decided to drop the subject. The rest of the story went smoothly, mostly because Luinn already knew which questions not to ask. Pretty soon the talking part was over and Luinn reached for the remote control, bringing her testing equipment cum computer center to them. Kyp took one look on the various shining instruments and sensors and paled visibly.

"Nothing invasive, I promise," Luinn said hastily. "But I have to take a look and run some tests. It's completely painless."

This time it was Kyp's hand that found Aren's and squeezed it tightly. "All right," he said. "All right."

Almost an hour later, with the sensors and cords still coiled around his head and neck, he was looking at Luinn, who was studying the three-dimensional holographic image of his vocal apparatus, with apprehension. "Well?"

"I see absolutely nothing wrong with it," she answered distractedly. "The mutation seems to be over, and it looks as normal as a model from a medical manual. Some very small scars, completely healed. I wouldn't even notice them, if I weren't looking very closely. No nodules. No polyps. Nor any other visible problems."

Aren smiled. "I thought so."

Kyp gave her a withering stare. "Yeah, right, just call me a drama queen to my face, would you?"

Luinn hid her smile. "No one calls you a drama queen, Rodi. People tend to be a little unreasonable sometimes, especially when it comes to the things they care about. However, I'm not finished yet. I need to see how everything behaves in motion, with different kinds of workload."

"You want me to sing?"

"Yes. Nothing strenuous, though. Just run some scales, first with closed mouth, then with open one, you know the drill. Try to do as much as you can, but discontinue it as soon as you start feeling uncomfortable or have to put too much effort in it. Understood?"

His smile was more than a little nervous. "Copy that, Lead."

He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, banishing the anxiety that was starting to lock all his body into a frozen lump. _It's all right, _he told himself, _it's all right. Nothing to fear. Even if you can't pull it off, nothing is going to happen. You have it, or you have not, but it's out of your hands now. Just go on. Just go on._

He begun, tentatively at first, then more and more freely, running through the scales from the middle of the diapason to the top and back to the bottom. It wasn't perfect, far from it. Some of the notes that he used to take as easily as the next breath seemed to be completely out of his reach now. Everything was different, unknown, uncharted. But now he could at least start to map the territory without that crippling fear which stopped him all the previous times. He was so caught up in his quest that he didn't notice that the regular clicking of Luinn's devices stopped some time ago. It was her quiet, insistent voice that finally pulled him out from under the spell of this pleasure, both remembered and new at the same time.

"Enough, Rodi. Enough. I saw everything I needed to see."

"Huh?" he blinked at her, only now realizing that he kept his eyes closed all this time.

"Stop, or you may indeed overdo it. It won't be permanent, but it can be a little annoying." She smiled. "You definitely don't need my services. What do you need now is a good teacher and a lot of patience. But what I heard here sounds promising. Do you want a recording?"

"Yes, please." He still couldn't believe that was really happening. Suddenly he heard a loud gurgling noise, and, to his dismay, it took him a couple of seconds to realize that the source of it was his own stomach. "Oh, kriff it!"

Aren sprang from the sofa, laughing and pulling him into a whirling hug. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry! I promise, we'll have a three-courses dinner. No, scratch it! Five courses, and I don't care how much it'll cost! I might as well get the last one too, before I'll have to measure each bite again."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like I said, I signed the contract, so I have to lose some kilograms I gained while sitting on my butt in Rann Na Móna."

Kyp looked her up and down. "I don't see a one flargin' extraneous kilogram on you!"

"Well, you're not a dancer," she answered cheerfully. "You wanted details? Now, how is this: nine thousand per season, with a possibility of renegotiating after the New Year's Fete; medical expenses covered; and, just because they were feeling generous, our manager is allowing me to take one of the apartments we have inside the theater. It's pretty small, only two rooms, a refresher and a kitchen, but it means I don't have to pay for the rent this year!"

"And with the renting prices we have now it's quite a relief," Luinn said seriously.

"Exactly. So, little brother, let's go have dinner. As soon as the new security system is in place, I want to move. As much as I love Rann Na Móna, I'm sick of it after these two years!"

"So, um, where am I going to live?" Kyp asked hesitantly. Granted, they didn't discuss it, but he kind of assumed he would stay with Aren until returning on Yavin IV. And he wasn't due to return for at least two months yet.

Aren turned to him. "Are you really desperate to pay for a rent in this city?"

"Um, no."

"Then stop asking stupid questions. I said there are two rooms there. Separate ones."

"But…"

"We can flip a coin over who'll get to sleep with Rik."

"No, I meant don't you think that people…" the words froze on his tongue under Aren's irate stare.

"I don't care what they think, talk, write, or whatever!" She snickered. "It might even cool down some of my over-zealous admirers."

Luinn interrupted them. "All right, children. Get out. I was supposed to be at home two hours ago. Shoo." She turned to Kyp. "Rodi, would you mind waiting in the other room for a couple of minutes? I want to have some words with your sister."

As soon as the door closed behind him, the doctor turned to Aren, all traces of mirth evaporated. "How long he's going to be here?"

"I don't know. He said something about the break in their Jedi school ending in two standard months or so."

The older woman shook her head sadly. "And, I take it, staying here after that is out of question?"

"I think so."

"He needs a teacher, Aren. I wasn't joking. If anything, I purposefully underestimated what I heard, so I wouldn't give him any false hopes. But if this is what he can do without any proper training, fresh out of the mutation and taking all his other problems into consideration… do you have any idea what we can have here?"

"Some. I'm Segan, after all."

"I'll pay for it. No. Don't even try to object. I have more than enough money and you don't. Go have your dinner and stop by as soon as you move. I'll find someone. You - you make sure he'd work his cute little butt off in this pitiful amount of time."

"Thank you."

"Don't. Least that I can do for the boy Rik called a son. Go on, he's waiting."

Aren suddenly pulled her in a deep, almost desperate hug. "Thank you," she said again. "I didn't even realize how much I missed you. We all need our anchors, don't we?"

"Yes," her friend whispered. "And right now, you are his. Don't let him fall again."

"Never," the younger woman answered, feeling the force of an oath gathering in her words. "Never again."

* * *

Notes: Please, don't forget that I have a LJ community for this fic and other assorted goodies - the link is in my userinfo. Everything I write goes there first, so if you're interested in this story and/or Kyp Durron, please keep an eye on it.


	10. Part 9

**Part 9**

**Rann Na Móna, 25 ABY.**

Kyp woke from a light slumber with a distinct feeling that something wasn't right. At first, he couldn't identify what it was. Nothing was amiss; Rik was still snoring lightly at his side. The sunrays drew a sharp line just inside the entrance to the grotto, indicating that the day was already at its second half. He was asleep for longer than he planned; but that was fine. They weren't on a timetable.

It took him almost a minute to understand what was different. It was a quiet, distant noise of a speeder. It was getting closer and closer, humming like a big, plump insect. He quickly found his shirt and stood up, trying not to wake Rik. It was a futile attempt; his nephew wasn't strong in the Force, relatively speaking, but his danger sense was always excellent. The boy cracked open one bleary eye.

"Problems?"

"No. Just a guest, I think. I wonder who it might be."

"Ivar, probably?" Rik sat up and found his own shirt. It had dried while they slept, but dried in a crumpled, stiff ball. "That's disgusting," he said, throwing it into a far corner.

"Just don't leave it here for the next decade," Kyp said absentmindedly. The noise stopped, then, after a minute or two, started again, getting louder and louder. "Well, whoever it is, Aren let him in."

"Are you going to check?"

"Yes. You don't have to go – I have a hunch it's someone out for my hide, anyway."

"Hunch," Rik snorted. "It's just logical." With that, he flopped down on the mattress again. "Don't get stuck in the doorway."

Kyp felt a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. Rik was definitely back. "There is no doorway here," he observed seriously.

"Well." The black eyes glimpsed at him from under the crook of an arm. "What's keeping you then?"

And so it happened that, despite all the emotional hazards of this day, Kyp Durron couldn't suppress his snickers as he walked the soft, tall grass of the valley toward the approaching vehicle. He fully expected it to be Ivar; although he hadn't told the policeman the exact location, he supposed the man was resourceful enough to find out. It might have also been Mikal, Rurik's cousin and the current Chief of their Clan, alerted to his arrival by the news – Force knew what the reporters had been able to come up with by now – but instead the person in the small, old speeder was someone he didn't expect to see. Or at least, not yet.

Keit Mantel.

"For some reason I doubt you came here just to have a cup of caf with me," Kyp said instead of 'hello'.

"I would like some caf," the professor answered. "I didn't have a lot of time to sleep this night. Why is it that I'd spent a year in peace and quiet, and within three days of your arrival I found myself flooded with work?"

Kyp stepped on the footboard and Keit took off at a sedate pace toward the house. "It wasn't my intention," he said to his old friend. "For once in my life, I got dragged into the action, practically by the balls. Aren is as mad as a wet cat at me for getting involved too, by the way."

The doctor smiled. "Somehow I don't think it's you she's mad at."

"I'm available." The Jedi looked at him tiredly. "So they called you to work with the boys, didn't they?"

"No, some of my students. I'm supervising. They called me in when the situation got complicated and, well, when I saw the medical records on Irek…"

"Irek?" Kyp asked.

"The older boy. His name is Irek Astrana. When I saw the holos of the welts on his back I got some suppositions..."

"You said 'complicated'," interrupted Kyp. "What did you mean?"

"They are refusing to talk, Kyp. Well, not entirely, but the younger boys are getting suspiciously close-mouthed around the certain time point in their narrative and increasingly distrustful of us when we try to prod deeper, and it's not exactly therapeutic. And Irek – he refuses to speak at all. At least with my people. He talked a bit with this police officer, Tharas, but he couldn't persuade the boy to speak even two words with us."

"What about his parents?"

"Ah, that's another problem, and probably a very serious one. I'll tell you about that on our way to Ariana."

Kyp raised an eyebrow. "You're so sure I'll come with you?"

Keit looked at him seriously. "Yes. You don't like to leave things half-done. And as far as I'm concerned, you're in the same basket with the boys. You're still my responsibility and I have to evaluate you just as I have to evaluate them. And I hope you won't inconvenience me with all this driving between Ariana and Rann Na Móna."

Despite all the pique Kyp felt upon hearing that, it was the truth. Keit Mantel was one of the people who vouched for him when the issue of his citizenship was discussed, and that meant that to some extent the doctor was still accountable for his actions. He was also the one who confirmed his stable mental state when such a question was raised in the process of his naturalization. Not to mention that what he had done during this rescue certainly didn't make Keit's job easier.

"That's guilt-tripping," he muttered under his breath.

"I'm glad that you can recognize that so easily," Keit answered seriously, stopping the decrepit speeder near the front door to the house. Aren was staying in the doorway, arms crossed, brows furrowed and clearly furious. Kyp didn't even try to explain anything or calm her down. Instead he just squeezed through beside her and headed straight to his room to change. For once, he was fully prepared to take a coward's way out. Keit was more than welcome to the explanations.

He banged the door open and began to rummage through his wardrobe, looking for some inconspicuous outfit. As if to further irritate him, his hands mostly encountered some stylish, brightly colored things Aren liked so much to see on him. He threw the handful of white, yellow, blue and green shirts and tunics on the bed, leaned his forehead on the cold wall and groaned loudly.

"What's going on?" a quiet voice asked from behind him.

"You know, Miko," answered Kyp, "I can remember a couple of other occasions when doing what I considered a right thing got me into a vapin' mess and I don't like this comparison at all."

"I'm sorry," his student's voice sounded unusually small. "I got you into this."

"Don't be ridiculous. You'd prefer these children to be sold into sexual slavery? _I_ got myself into this mess. I shouldn't have killed the bastard." He smiled crookedly. "The problem is, I still feel it had to be done."

"I think it had."

"Thanks for the note of confidence." He began to search again, finally finding what he wanted – plain brown pants and an equally simple dark green loose tunic with short sleeves and a hood. He had used it during one of his forays into the dim enthralls of Wasted City and it had served him well. It wasn't disreputable enough, however, to get any unwanted attention in a place such as a hospital or even the Uni. He dropped them on the top of the multicolored pile on the bed and begun to take off his clothes tiredly. "I think I'll remember this little vacation for years to come. First this scum, then Rik blowing off at me, now Keit… and Force knows what's next."

Miko smiled. "Just wait until _I_ will be able to get my hands on you."

"Oh yes. And you, too. Just great." Kyp jerked the chosen clothes on himself. "Don't get too comfy, Miko. I'm afraid things can get nasty."

"In which way?"

"I doubt that the boys can keep their mouths shut. And if what Keit said is true I can't allow it to continue how Ivar had planned. Voz me suvez?"

The young Jedi raised both eyebrows in puzzlement. Kyp usually didn't slip into Corellian unless he was feeling really out of sorts and, more importantly, totally pissed off. Then comprehension dawned.

"Oh. Yes, I understand. If the boys tell everything and they'll process it legally… just what exactly can you get for that?"

"Hopefully not much. I do have some alleviating conditions, after all. But I don't think I can bear another vacation in a prison."

Miko slid down the wall. "Oh, sithspit."

"Don't get too worked up just yet. Who knows, we might find some loophole."

"I certainly hope so," Miko said fervently. "I'm not up to commanding a squadron yet and I sure like hell don't want to bring this news to Master Skywalker! Kyp, please, think twice before you do something! There should be some other way."

"If there is, I'll find it. Now get yourself together. I want you to stay put and look after Aren. Someone has to. She already has more on her hands than she can deal with."

The young Jedi's face reddened slightly. "I… Umm…"

Kyp tugged his boots over the knife sheaths and checked how easily he could unsheathe the blades. Satisfied, he looked at his student, who was still crouching near the wall.

"Listen to me, and listen carefully," he said crisply. "I have no right to intrude in my sister's personal life. But I can tell you that she has had a very bad experience with some men who were interested in _what_ she is, not _who_ she is. They hurt her badly. I wouldn't offend you by suggesting you can make the same mistake. But if you don't think you're up to being completely unselfish, don't you dare even to touch her. Aren needs a lot of patient affection and she doesn't deserve another disappointment. So think about it, and think well."

"Ye suvez," Miko answered gravely.

Kyp snorted. "Your accent is horrible. All right, time to face the music, as Han would say."

They found everyone, minus Rik, in the kitchen. Gella was chatting with Keit, who listened to her with sincere attention and Aren was watching this scene with a rigid expression of someone experiencing a torturous headache, but keeping a pleasant face for the sake of propriety. Kyp didn't know if she had managed to put everything together in her head, or her prominent unhappiness was just a result of having him being dragged from the home again. If it was the second, he definitely didn't want to alert her to the seriousness of the situation before he had no other choice. So he turned to Keit and asked him lightly: "Well, are we going or are you planning to entertain the fair lady for a couple of hours more?"

"As much as I'd love to…" The doctor stood up. "Let's go. Bye, Gella."

The girl pouted. "Will you be back?"

"As soon as I can, honey. I promise."

"Brother," Aren said quietly, "come here."

He went to her and stopped just before her chair. "Yes?"

She stood up and kissed his forehead, then quickly drew a circle, crossed with a curved line, on the same place with her finger. "May the Mother keep you safe and help you," she said quietly in Seighne, only to his ears.

So, it was the first option. Unfortunately. "Don't bother the highest authority just yet," he whispered to her. "Whatever you think, it's not that bad." With that, he turned away, pretending he hadn't seen her 'yeah, right' look. "Don't strangle each other before I return," he tossed over his shoulder.

As soon as they were out of the valley and the noise of the old engines stopped reverberating in their ears, Kyp turned to his older friend. "Give."

"Not just yet. First I want to tell you something, and then I'd like to hear what really happened in that warehouse. Not necessarily in this order. Do you want to talk first?"

It didn't matter either way. Kyp would just as well get it over with, so he told Keit. To his amazement, it didn't take a lot of time. The events that seemed to take hours to him got narrated in less than fifteen minutes. When he was finished, the doctor didn't show any signs of displeasure or any other emotion. He just nodded and slowly said: "Thank you. I'd like to tell you…"

"So tell," Kyp said tersely. He was founding it harder and harder to keep even an illusion of being polite. As much as he respected Keit, he was reaching his limit of endurance.

"Whatever you're going to do now, I want you to know that nothing of what the children tell us will go any further than me and my guys. We're not disregarding the confidentiality law no matter what."

"I didn't think you would. But if you got suspicious, then anyone else could be too, and there is no way they would be able not to spill when asked properly by a judge. Am I right about this?"

"Honestly? I think so."

"So I don't really have any other option. Even if the judge won't look closely, it's just plain wrong to make them lie to cover my ass. They don't need that on top of everything else they have been through."

"Personally, I'd say that's debatable, at least in the long run. But I'm not a great authority on moral issues."

"And even if they could get along with it," Kyp continued as if he didn't hear what his friend said, "it'd make me safe only for a short time. Sooner or later someone would get a hold on this fact and I don't appreciate being a target for blackmail. I don't want to be afraid for the rest of my life that someone will uncover this little secret. I was mulling over this since yesterday and… strangely enough, I still have a conscience and it wouldn't let me rest if I went along with this scheme. But, Force, I don't want to get myself under a lock! I have too much to do right now. All my plans, all the work I've put in training the squadron, in establishing bases, informant network… even Miko's training - everything will go to a black hole if I'm not there to keep it going! Not to mention that I'm not enjoying the idea of being put in a prison again."

"Kyp, calm down," Keit said hurriedly. "You'll drive us into the next rock at this rate. Who said it has to be prison?"

"Being found guilty of murder generally means just that," the Jedi answered sardonically.

The doctor sighed. "You know, if you and your sister bothered to keep up with the local politics, you'd have saved yourself some grief just now."

"All right," Kyp said resignedly, "what did I miss?"

"You know, people here were never happy with all these trendy new laws the Empire and the New Republic forced on us. Probably they are fine on most other planets, but this one was living by its own rules for four millennia. They might be considered too harsh by off-worlders, but, all things considered, we managed quite well with them."

"I know that," Kyp said impatiently.

"Just want to be sure we're on the same page. It has been a long time since you lived here for any considerable stretch of time. Well, in the last couple of years things got quite tumultuous. The NR isn't in the best shape right now, as you certainly know, with all this anti-human hysteria raging in the Senate, and Garosians are becoming more and more resentful of their influence. Even Sundars are. For what's possibly the first time ever both parts of the population are agreeing on something. There are quite a number of influential persons and organizations that are arguing for discontinuing our membership in the NR altogether. The most pointed discussion, accidentally, happened exactly over the issue what can and what can't be considered a justified killing. There were at least two major incidences in the last year when the formal law clashed with the traditional one. The uproar over that was stifled, but the government realized that at this rate they would soon have a full-blown civilian disobedience campaign on their hands, with the Old Clans spearheading it. The last man who got five years for killing the bastard who'd raped his daughter was from the Fourth Clan. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes. Nice to hear the Old Clans are getting some of their spirit back. I gather the government decided to make at least _some_ changes voluntary instead of being forced to change everything?"

The older man smiled. "Bright boy. Right now the new law, which was developed in accordance with the Council of Seven, is being discussed in the High Court. It contains quite a number of changes – one of them being, incidentally, the concept of justified vengeance. It's all being kept pretty quiet, since they are rightfully afraid that if the public will learn about it, it'd take it as a sign of weakness and demand more cessions. I know about it because I've worked for the High Court for more than fifteen years and I have my ways to keep my finger on the pulse. Mikal also has to know, of course, as a member of The Seven. But I doubt it's widespread knowledge, by any stretch of imagination. But that's not important. What's important is that the new law is scheduled for the last approval tomorrow. I think it will be approved. Actually, I think right now it'd take a sign from the gods for it not to be approved. And you killing your torturer will make a clear case under it."

The relief Kyp felt rivaled only his irritation. He stopped the speeder so abruptly that the outdated compensators barely worked quickly enough. As it was, both of them took quite a dive forward, with Keit all but colliding with the windshield.

"Why the kriff didn't you tell us that when we were in the kitchen?" he spat out. "Do you have any idea what Aren might be feeling right now?"

"Yes, I do," the doctor answered mildly. "I did all I could to allay her fears while we had been waiting for you, but I couldn't say much with Gella being there. And I doubt she'd have believed me even if I'd told her more. She is not always rational when it comes to your safety. And I couldn't tell her what I told you. In fact, I shouldn't even have told _you_!"

The outrage died quickly. Kyp was too tired to maintain any strong emotion for long. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I appreciate it, really. I'm just on a very short fuse right now."

Keit chuckled. "I would have checked you for drug abuse if you weren't. Did you have any recurring symptoms? Nightmares, difficulties with concentration, livid memories…"

"…irritation outbursts?" Kyp finished for him. "No to the first two, yes to the third. I had a very nasty flashback directly after I killed him. But nothing serious after that. As to fourth… honestly, no more than I'd have expected from myself under the circumstances. These three days were some of the most trying I can remember having in years."

The doctor relaxed in his seat. "You're doing better than I estimated."

"Look at it this way," ventured Kyp, "I've got my closure."

"If you feel that, then you did. All right. In any other circumstances I would have definitely had a nice long session with you, but for now your problems will have to take a backseat. I trust you to tell me immediately if something changes, but for now you're doing fairly well and Irek definitely isn't."

"Why do you think you need me to deal with him?"

"Let's begin at the beginning. His mother is a Seighne, from the Fifth Clan. Not from a prominent family, but still. His father was a Sundar."

"Oh, flarg…"

"That about covers it. Both families disowned them immediately after the marriage and did everything to make their lives as hard as possible. Classic drama, if you wish. Some plots are as eternal as the Galaxy itself. When Irek was six, his father went to Sundari for some temporary work and didn't return. No one knows what happened to him – whether he was killed or just decided he'd had enough of this strenuous life. The woman's family said they'd accept her back, but only without her son."

"Bastards," muttered Kyp under his breath.

"Don't be so quick to judge. Their clan lost half of their members in the Whahalla Massacre and never quite recovered from that. Just do a little mind experiment – what would you say if Rik told you one day he's going to marry an Imperial?"

Kyp was silent for a long time. "I wish I could say it's different," he said after all, "but yes, I'd find it hard to swallow. But I would never make him unhappy on purpose. They carried this hatred too far, by any standards."

Keit shrugged. "Care to enlighten them on this matter?"

Kyp knew better than answer such a question. "I don't see where I fit into this story so far."

"You'll see. Irek's mother refused, of course. She went through a lot of struggle to assure they have a decent life. It certainly left some mark on the boy. His teachers describe him as an aloof, hard-working child, intelligent, sometimes whimsical, but not exactly sociable, with very few friends, none of them close. What's more important, they say he has a very rigid set of rules when it comes to trust and commitment, and a keen sense of duty. He thinks very highly about the Wookie custom of life-debts and doesn't abide any dishonesty. Lie to him once and you'll lose his trust forever." The doctor shook his head. "He's a very difficult person to work with, that's for sure."

"He sounds interesting," Kyp noted.

"Yes, I thought you'd find this appealing. Now let's move to what I want from you. We can't locate his mother. She isn't answering her comm, and her neighbors haven't seen her in at least a couple of days."

"That doesn't sound good."

"To put it mildly. I think it sounds pretty dire. Tharas is running a search on her now. But we need at least one person this poor boy can possibly trust. You saved his life and avenged him. He might open up to you."

"Because he thinks he owes me?"

"That's a possibility, yes. But we can worry about this later. Right now the important thing is to get him talking at all. He should have been past the shock stage already. This silence isn't normal, and it doesn't speak of anything even remotely beneficial for his mental state. He isn't able to sleep either, because of nightmares. We started to give him sleep inducers today, but he can't continue to live on them."

Kyp sighed. "I'll try. But I don't share your faith in my psychotherapeutic abilities. Aren't you afraid I might make things worse?"

"You have at least the basic knowledge. What's more important, you have good instincts. You're empathic, after all, and you had been exactly where he is now. And there is another reason why I think you'd be the best person to stir him up."

"Yeah?"

"The boy is crazy about piloting. He spends almost all his free time and all his pocket money on simulators. How much are you willing to bet that he will be eager to talk with the guy who flew the Maw?"

Kyp smiled. "_Now_ you're talking."

**Keriin Haslip's Memorial Hospital, Ariana, 40 min later.**

He had felt the _look_ as soon as they entered the hospital lobby. Someone in this mottled crowd so typical of any busy medical institution in the Galaxy was paying attention – and paying attention specifically to him. It was strange – the precautions he took before entering should have been enough to divert any casual - and even not so casual - curiosity. Kyp quickly scanned the people in the hall, but didn't detect any hostility in the thick cloud of emotions and auras that was filling the room. The feeling of being watched faded immediately, leaving him more than a little alarmed. If it was a spy, it was a very professional one, someone who knew exactly what he was doing. The window of opportunity with spying on a trained Jedi, let alone a Jedi Master, was pretty small, and the spy didn't overstep it even for a second. It was well beyond anything an unduly inquisitive journalist could have pulled off.

Keit, meanwhile, cleared them with the security and ushered Kyp into a small inconspicuous turbolift. Another pair of security guards met them with suspicious glances when the door opened. This time they were dressed in the Police Department uniform and the doctor didn't even have to say anything. The comlink on the wall crackled slightly and a familiar voice gave an order to let them in.

"Did you find her?" was the first thing Keit Mantel asked Ivar after they had entered the small lounge behind the security station. The room was evidently serving as an impromptu office.

The policeman's face was a picture of unhappiness. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Suicide?"

"I don't think we can rule it out completely, but my gut instinct says no. We'll have to wait for the autopsy to know for sure. We found her collapsed in her speeder on one of the streets not far from her home. No visible damage to the body and no traces of drugs or chemicals in the vehicle." He shrugged. "She had been dead for at least four days already. If you want my personal opinion I'd say she'd had a heart attack or something like that."

Kyp felt the bile rising up in his throat. Another parent and another heart failure. Why was his past coming after him after all these years, just when he thought he was beginning to move on? The blaster bolts of coincidences were hitting closer and closer to home and he had no idea who or what was aiming them.

_Probably destiny._

He shook his head. Just where had this ludicrous idea come from? He didn't believe in destiny, no more than he believed in the general fairness and benevolence of the Universe.

"If you tell me I have to go and tell him that his mother is dead," he said to Keit through the clenched teeth, "I'm out of here in a second."

"No need, Kyp," Ivar said quietly.

"You told him?" Keit asked in disbelief. "Do you have any idea…"

"_Doc_. Do I look like a clunkhead?" Ivar interrupted the doctor tersely. "If you just want to blow out some energy, spare me, I didn't have the bestest day of my life either."

The doctor's hands tightened into the fists. For a moment Kyp was afraid that Keit might indeed punch the policeman, despite being a head shorter and at least twenty years older. He would have never believed that his old teacher could lose his composure that badly, but, apparently, the sheer hopelessness of the situation was getting to him too. However, just when Kyp was about to intervene to prevent the confrontation from getting completely out of hand, Keit exhaled loudly and relaxed.

"You're right," he said to Ivar. "That's counterproductive. Why did you tell him, then?"

Ivar run both of his hands through his shaggy brown hair. "He didn't leave me a choice. I came here to talk with you and found one of your youngsters instead. It seems that whatever drug you gave to Irek wore off sooner than you expected. The boy got out of the bed and came here while we were talking, heard my voice and demanded I told him everything. He's not stupid, Doc, and he knew something was wrong, or I wouldn't have been here. I told him we'd found her body. He didn't listen to anything past these words, just turned and went to his room and fainted three steps from the door. Your student gave him something to keep him down and is sitting in his room right now." He sat down heavily. "Emperor's stinky armpits, what a mess!"

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Keit answered grimly. "I'm going to check on him. You two sit here, please, and try not to attract any other unexpected developments while I'm gone."

As soon as the door closed behind the older man, Ivar turned to Kyp. "What the kriff are _you_ doing here?"

The Jedi shrugged. "Keit thought I might be able to talk some sense into the boy."

The policeman snorted. "He's perfectly sensible. Just not inclined to talk with strangers."

"But he'd talked with you, hadn't he?"

"Yes, but I didn't have a lot of time then." Ivar looked at him thoughtfully. "You know, the old geezer might have had the right idea. You can understand Irek on the level I'll never be able to. After all, I happened to be only on the other side of torture implement in my life."

"If his reactions are anything like mine were," Kyp said quietly, "he's scared out of his mind now. Ivar, I don't know if I can do it. What can I tell him? What can I promise? He needs some stability, some protection, and he's completely alone in the world now. I can't take him, like Han did with me, he's only what, eleven years old?"

"Eleven and a half. But that doesn't matter. I know you can't take him. I will."

Kyp raised his head. "Are you serious?"

"Like a Rodian on a hunt. This boy is a pure gem. I can't allow him to be shoved in an orphanage. And if he's going to be adopted by someone, why not me? I already talked with Shaile, and she said that unless she hates him on sight, she's not adverse to the idea. We were going to adopt sooner or later anyway – she can't have children anymore, she barely survived birthing Eiza. I may never replace his father in his heart, or Shaile – his mother, but at least with us he'll never be forced to make the same mistakes I did. He will not have to work all his free time just to earn a couple more credits for his beloved sims. He'll have choices."

"Keit would have said it's a guilt complex speaking."

"And what difference it makes, pray tell?"

"That's more or less what I told him when he said that to me."

They smiled at each other in perfect accord. "We know a bit about making amends, don't we?" Ivar said with a small laugh. "Filswik, Kyp, it's nice to talk with someone who understands. Even Shaile doesn't, she thinks I should just make peace with my past and move on."

"She's right, of course. As is Aren. As is Keit. It's a good theory, isn't it?"

Ivar smiled without mirth. "Theories usually are."

"And intentions. Which reminds me… Did you submit your report yet?"

"No, didn't have enough time for that. What, do you want to change something?"

"Yes, actually. Just write it down as it was, okay? And we have to tell the children to stop covering for me. It'll make Keit's job a hell of a lot easier."

"Did you kriffin' lost your kriffin' mind!" Ivar exploded loudly, causing Keit, who just entered the room, to halt at half-step. "Talk about guilt complex! That's not a frippin' guilt complex, that's a full-blown, rancor-smelling, gondar-sucking quest for martyrdom! What are you, being overcome with the prison nostalgia? Longing to be in the mines again?"

"Yes."

The policeman froze at inhale, with his mouth still open for the next invective.

Kyp smirked. "Thought that'd shut you up. Listen, I have my reasons. Can you just trust me that they are good?"

"No more than I can comfortably spit a baby Hutt! Precisely because I understand you. If you don't want the children to cover for you, we'll work on something else, but don't you dare..."

"Shavit, Ivar! You're not my father! What gives you the right to tell me what to do and what to do not!"

Ivar suddenly reached for his bare elbow, squeezed it slightly and pressed at one point with controlled precision. Sharp, spiking pain shot through Kyp's hand, numbing the whole arm, making it hung limply at his side. "This," he said quietly. "This gives me the right. It's called 'poison star', third degree of application. Well-practiced, won't you think? It'll pass in a couple of minutes, ten at the most, don't worry."

Kyp hissed through gritted teeth. "Why in nine Corellian hells…"

"Because this Galaxy is falling apart, Kyp. The government is corrupt, the society is tired and dispirited, the criminals are starting to get way too bold again and it's not going to get better any time soon. And in such times you want to lock yourself in a prison to indulge your conscience? Serve and protect, remember? Who is going to do your job while you rot in the hibridium mines?" His sharp grey eyes met Kyp's confused gaze unflinchingly. "Didn't think of it from this angle, did you?"

Suddenly the third voice cut in. "Enough," Keit said with a note of authority that was all the more potent for it was completely unexpected. "Can I suggest a solution?"

Kyp nodded, still rubbing his now madly tingling hand. Ivar made a vague gesture. "Feel free, Doc."

"When are you supposed to submit your report, Investigator?"

"Well, I don't think my boss is going to hurry me. I can postpone it for three days for sure, probably four."

"Then you can wait until tomorrow evening. Let's return to this argument the day after the next – if you still want to, of course."

"Tomorrow evening…" Ivar said slowly, thoughtfully. Kyp could see the rush of calculations running through the policeman's mind, reflecting in his suddenly distant eyes. The brain that was used to solving life riddles geared into the full working mode, investigating possibilities, running through the versions, comparing the snatches of conversations, hints and rumors. "Huh," he said in a minute, evidently coming to a conclusion. "You're just full of surprises, doctor Mantel. All right, I'll wait. But in case it won't work… what I said before is still true, Kyp. We have to think of other possibilities."

"Not now," the Jedi said tiredly. "I'm not up to solving even a word puzzle from a magazine for Kuati housewives right now."

Ivar's eyes softened. "You should go home and sleep. You look like three-day-old shit."

"You sure know how to boost someone's self-confidence," Kyp answered sourly. "I woke up just two hours ago. And it's not me you're supposed to worry about, anyway. How is Irek?" he asked turning to Keit.

"Sleeping. My student upped his medication a bit, but the boy, apparently, has an unusually fast metabolism, so I don't know how long it'll last. I think he'll sleep for about four hours for sure. After that, though, we'll have to discontinue it for at least seventy hours to avoid cumulative effect."

"Is there something in his room I can spend four hours in, more or less comfortably?" asked Kyp.

"A second bed and an armchair."

"It'll do. I'm going to meditate for a while. And I'd appreciate some food, but _not_ from the hospital's kitchen." With that, Kyp turned and left the room, leaving his two friends behind. He was reasonably sure they would not kill each other in his absence.

He didn't have to ask in which room the boy was kept – Irek's presence was ringing the nonexistent bells in his head clearly and resonantly. It was a bit odd, even to him, to be able to identify a particular signature in the Force so easily and without even really focusing on it after being acquainted with it's owner for such a short time. He was close to the child for all of ten or fifteen minutes, under extremely messy circumstances at that, and still, the Jedi Master was sure that he could recognize Irek easily - even in a sizeable crowd and from a great distance.

Kyp never really talked about that with other Jedi, so he didn't know if his way of identifying people by their aura was something unique or inherent to all of them, but he suspected that the way they all related to different Force signatures had something to do with whatever was the strongest of the senses for each of them. He knew that Miko mostly 'sniffed' the auras, having smell associations with most of them. Clighal let it slip once that different illnesses 'taste' differently. And, not wholly surprisingly, for him each presence had a different sound – sometimes just a couple of notes, sometimes an unpleasant cacophony. And sometimes, like now, it was a capricious melody that he would have had a hard time putting down in note marks, but was delighted to hear. _Tryna chime_, Kyp smiled inwardly. _Definitely._

He quietly opened the door and slipped into the room. To his relief, it wasn't like most rooms in similar establishments he had a misfortune to spend time in. The walls were adorned with moving landscapes; the big window, now tinted to dimness, allowed in as much sunlight as anyone might desire. The furniture was also emphatically domestic and casual. If not for the faint smell of medicaments in the air and the monitor clip on the boy's ear, he wouldn't be able to tell that this was, indeed, not a private home.

Irek was soundly, stonily asleep. Kyp levitated the big plush armchair closer to the bed and sat in it, quite content to wait as much as was needed in blessed silence. The annoyance with Ivar's interference was still very much on the surface of his thoughts and he deliberately dampened it, diffusing the sharp edges.

The sight before his eyes provided a welcome distraction. Now Kyp could observe the boy properly and he noticed, with some amusement, that his mind had been, obviously, playing tricks on him. Aside for the general dark hair and pale skin coloration Irek looked nothing like him. The boy's hair was rich brown, not black, almost straight with just a hint of a curl. The flawless skin had a completely different tone than Kyp's pale bronze – it was milky white with just a hint of pink, almost luminous. A couple of moles, one near the corner of the left eye and another, smaller one, on the chin, only heightened its perfection instead of blemishing it. The pale rosy lips with a strong outline, neither overly fleshy, nor overly thin, gave out just a hint on a sensual dare they might become in a future. The too sharp lines of dark eyebrows were softened by the semi-circles of the equally dark curved lashes underneath, and slightly bluish translucent eyelids were covering the eyes that Kyp remembered as hazel, although he might have been wrong about this too.

Kyp knew that he was handsome; he was told that often enough. But the features of the young face before him defied any comparison between them and could not have been described by the words as trite as 'pretty' or 'gorgeous'. Actually, the word that jumped first to Kyp's mind was 'fey'. Irek looked like an outcast from a fairy tale; a magic princeling, thrown cruelly in a hostile world where he didn't belong. There was something in this boy that struck a chord inside Kyp's soul, something that had been lost long time ago for him and never terribly missed, but nor forgotten: innocence.

Not the kind of innocence that went hand-in-hand with inexperience and naïveté and was easily chattered by the various imperfections of the world, but the one that came with the courage and acceptance. It was the innocence that allowed one to welcome the universe to himself – and himself to the universe – and still be able to say 'no' when it tried to break or deceive him, too sure in himself to be swayed. Ivar was right, Kyp acknowledged with a feeling that almost approached admiration, the boy was a pure gem, and he didn't have to be a Jedi Master to see that. He suddenly remembered Aren's words from the day before – _"You are a rare gem, Kyp Durron" _- and smiled bitterly. Probably he was that, once upon a time, but the jewel he might have been was scratched and shattered now, and encased in a twisted, burned black metal. It was too late for him; but perhaps he could do something that would make 'too late' not an option for Irek.

He was startled out of his contemplation by a small movement. It was barely noticeable, but Kyp, who didn't take his eyes off the boy's face, noticed it immediately. Irek's eyes had started to move under the almost translucent eyelids, making the thick eyelashes quiver slightly. He was beginning to enter the phase that brought dreams, and what those dreams can carry on for the boy Kyp could imagine vividly. He sighed, said goodbye to his meditation and reached for Irek's mind in the Force, carefully lowering his own shields, allowing himself to feel the other person's emotions. It wasn't something he did often; although to the lesser degree than Streen, he was too emphatic for his own good. It was the reverse side to his telepathic and mind-affecting powers, and during the course of his life it proved to be more of a hindrance than an advantage. In a couple of years after his knighting he learned to consciously dampen it, shield his mind, usually not allowing himself anything more than a quick scan of the surface of emotional fields.

He didn't even have to probe. The terror emanating from the boy hit him full force. Kyp fell back in the armchair, feeling as if a big, dirty hand had slapped him. He knew this kind of sticky, dragging horror, was acquainted with it intimately. He knew that there really wasn't any natural end to this; as opposed to the real life, when you could at least lose consciousness when something became too much to endure, in dreams things could get worse and worse indefinitely.

"Irek!" he said sharply. "Wake up!"

No reaction.

Kyp shook the boy by shoulders. "This is a dream! Wake up!"

Irek's fragile body went rigid in his arms, but the boy didn't open his eyes. Whatever drug the doctors gave him was keeping him firmly under the spell of the nightmare, not allowing any escape.

Later, when he did have time to think, Kyp, perhaps, would be able to rationalize his decision. But he didn't want to, and no one had asked. His response was totally instinctual; all he knew in this moment was that he couldn't allow the boy to endure this anymore, if not for Irek's sake, than for his own. In the next second he had his hands on Irek's sweating forehead and _plunged_, fusing their minds together in one ripping and painful effort, so similar to swimming straight into a powerful dark vortex.

Irek's emotions filled his consciousness. _Pain, more pain, fear, despair. No hope, no hope, he killed her, this is the end, the end, it was a lie, the rescue was a lie, nothing happened, here again, no hope, no hope…_

Kyp wasn't surprised to find himself again in the dimly lit storehouse, just meters away from the cage. Somehow he managed to infuse himself into Irek's nightmare. Now it was up to him to pull the boy out. He had a significant advantage here; unlike Irek, he knew it wasn't real. In the next moment, fighting the bile that threatened to choke him, he had to ask himself if this really mattered.

The setting was nauseatingly familiar. Irek was tied to the cage's top crossbar by his wrists and the torturer was standing behind and to the left from him, raising the twice-folded piece of thin synthrope for a strike. He said something in this hateful, taunting voice Kyp remembered so well, but he couldn't make out any words. Strangely, the figure was also a bit muzzy, as if out of focus, but it didn't make it neither less threatening nor less disgusting.

Oddly enough, it was the most gruesome detail of the scene that allowed him to ground himself and get back his fading grip on reality. It was a crumpled, lifeless figure of the woman he never knew that was lying like a torn doll in the cage in a pool of blood.

_Too much blood. Too bright. Not possible. Not real._

Now he knew what to do, and he stepped forward, breaching the last barrier between his and Irek's perception, feeling a strange, tingling ripple as he did. It seemed that Irek was able to feel it too, because his head jerked up and turned to him.

"Help me!" he cried out. "Kill him!"

"I can't," Kyp answered quietly.

The torturer laughed. "Heard him, you little sucker?" he asked the boy triumphantly. "You are mine!"

"Like hell he is," Kyp snorted disdainfully. "You are dead. Begone." And he went to Irek's side, paying no attention to the fact that the body of the butcher was right in his way. Just as he expected, the dream apparition was as easy to pass through as an air. He didn't turn to check if it reassembled itself behind his back.

"I can't kill him," he said again, and before the hopelessness had a chance to settle on the boy's features, he added: "_You_ can."

"Me?" Irek asked incredulously.

"Yes. It's _your_ dream. I'm just along for the ride."

"It's a dream?"

"Of course. I already killed him, don't you remember? He's dead. But you resurrected him here, in your mind, so it's really up to you now to send him back where he belongs."

"But how…" Irek tugged at his bonds frantically. "Untie me! Please!"

Kyp ached to do just that, but he knew he shouldn't. Irek had to do everything by himself, or he might become dependent on him for a long time, if not forever. "Your dream. Not mine. Remember, they are not real. Nothing here is. Believe." _Well, except for me. _But he didn't say that out loud.

The boy suddenly closed his eyes – and the rope around his wrists disappeared. He turned, eyeing his free hands in amazement.

"I did it," he whispered. "I did it. It's just a dream." He suddenly laughed, then sobbed. "Just a dream."

And in the next moment the already motionless and lifeless image of his torturer blew up like a plasma grenade, shattering in a thousand pieces that begun to vanish even before they touched the floor. Irek turned to the cage, and the scarlet pond around the woman's body dried up without a trace.

"Can I raise her?" he asked with such longing that Kyp suddenly wished to revive the bastard Irek just exterminated from this reality – so he could kill him all over again, and slowly this time.

"You can," he answered, barely able to whisper. "But it won't be real too."

The boy was silent, and Kyp was afraid to look. Finally, he heard a sigh.

"I don't want to leave her here," he heard Irek saying.

When he looked, the cage was empty. He turned to the boy and offered him his hand. "I'm afraid we still have some time to spend here before we can return. Tell me, do you want to fly the Maw?"

**Rann Na Mona, same day.**

Getting stir-crazy after less than a day sitting inside the four stone walls of the old house was ridiculous, Miko decided. As if he wasn't used to spending much longer periods of time in much less unrestricted settings – like his X-wing, for example. It was ridiculous, it was absurd, it was foolish and downright inappropriate. Still, the not-quite-physical itching he had begun to feel soon after his Master's departure, was starting to get so bad that a couple of times he barely resisted vigorously scratching his perfectly healthy skin.

He _was_ stir-crazy.

Aren's bad mood proved to be highly infectious. Looking at oblivious Gella, whose undiminished exuberance only served to highlight the gloomy miasmas that seemed to roll off Aren in waves, permeating even the stones in the walls, Miko idly thought that it might have been his personal sensitivity to this particular woman that caused him to feel this way. It hardly mattered; his feelings weren't an issue. Kyp had asked him to look after his sister, and, by the silver seas of Chandrila, Miko was going to do just that. Only he had no idea how to look after somebody who was clearly unable to stop the incessant moving around even for a minute.

First she re-washed the dishes that had just been taken out of the cleaner. Then she rearranged the various bottles and jars with spices on the shelves. Then wiped down and polished the counters and the table, which had been looking more like mirrors than kitchen furnishings to begin with. Silently. After that she moved to other rooms and Miko, who didn't think that following her around like a shadow would be welcomed, was able to hear only the occasional noise of something hitting the floor. If he had to hazard a guess, he would say the cleanup hadn't been very effective. And still, he could do nothing except sit in the kitchen trying to keep Gella from getting underfoot. Getting stir-crazy.

He tried not to think of what would happen if Kyp's concerns come true. He knew that his Master was resourceful. There were a couple of times in the years he had spent at Kyp's side that left him wondering about the exact extend of this resourcefulness. Surely there was something or someone who could help? And if not, well, there always was that famous Durron luck to fall back onto, despite all Kyp's avowals that he didn't believe in such things.

He was not going to think of where his Master's possible imprisonment would leave him. He. Was. Not.

He moved the last piece on Catch-The-Loper board. "I won," he told Gella, whose heart-shaped little face immediately started to fall into a pout. As much as he liked the girl, he was eager to get rid of her for… probably even for the rest of the evening. There was no noise from the back of the house for quite some time now, and he was itching just to get up and go after Aren. If her obsessive cleaning had unnerved the young Jedi, this absence of activity bothered him even more. Enough was enough.

"Why won't you go find Rik?" he asked the girl. "He is in the cave. Remember, he promised he'd let you sleep there with him?"

Gella's face suddenly acquired a hesitant, slightly frightened, expression. "Can I?"

"Why not? It's still plenty of light outside and it's not far away. You are not planning to get off the grounds, are you?"

Now the girl really looked scared. "No Miko, no, I'm not!" she assured him quickly, fervently. "But… uncle Kyp told to ask…" her speech faltered in confusion, as if getting stuck on some word and Miko understood suddenly. Gella didn't want to call Aren by name; it probably seemed too impersonal for her. But she was equally reluctant to call her 'mom'.

"I think Aren won't mind," he said.

"You sure?"

"Positive." He smiled at her encouragingly, wondering just where this sudden fear of hers came from.

"But uncle Kyp said…"

_Aaaargh! _"Listen, Gella. Do you really think I'd get you in trouble?"

"N-n-n-no…"

"Then go to Rik."

This time she did just that. Miko pondered this odd change in her behavior for a minute, and then gave up. She was Aren's responsibility now, anyway. And Aren was his. Well, sort of.

He found the woman half-sitting, half-lying on the bed in Kyp's room, face buried in a pile of shirts and tunics her brother left in disarray. He knelt beside her and gently pried her clenched fists open, lightly stroking the thin fingers with unfashionably short, unpolished nails. She said she was attracted to him. Well, it was the time to test exactly how much. Will it be enough to distract her from gloomy thoughts?

"Aren," he said quietly, "can I ask you to do me a favor?"

She raised her head and set straight. To his surprise, her eyes were dry, if a bit brighter than they should have been. And still the same tightly drawn, controlled face.

"Yes, Miko?"

"Kyp said you're a dance teacher?"

She clearly didn't expect this kind of question and surprise cracked her mask a little. "Oh, yes. For now, at least."

"Can you teach me to dance? Even a little? I'd never had an opportunity before and, well, it's embarrassing sometimes to tell a girl 'no' just because I don't know how…" Well, that wasn't exactly the truth. Alema and Numa taught him a lot more than just a few fine points of bed gymnastics during the boring evenings on Yavin IV. But formal dances weren't their specialty.

"Oh," Aren sighed out and her face lost another bit of this ominous stillness. A small, almost imperceptible smile flew briefly through her face, much to Miko's relief. "You poor deprived child. Why didn't you ask Kyp to teach you?"

He twisted his lips in a mockingly disdainful grimace. "Until we came here I'd had as much idea he could dance as that he could sing. And I'm not very comfortable about trying the type of dancing I have in mind with a male partner."

She snorted. "Another thing you two have in common. So what type of dancing you have in mind?"

"Anything that can be danced by two at a remotely respectable party?"

"Oh well," she stood up and offered him her hand. "I can do this."

"You said you're a teacher 'for now'," he said while they were walking to the studio. "Why's that?"

She shrugged. "I just needed a break from the full-time stardom. It was starting to get to me – six shows in a week, rehearsals, obligatory social events, journalists, importunate admirers. I became so stressed out in the end that I couldn't even take pleasure in my work." She shuddered. "I never thought there would come a day when I wouldn't want to dance. It scared me, so I decided to quit for a while. Give the young ones a chance and all that. Besides, Rik was turning twelve that year and I thought I'd better concentrate on him, since Kyp wasn't around as much as he was used to."

"So when do you plan to return?" asked Miko, opening the door to the studio.

"I don't know," Aren answered flippantly. "When I'll feel I'm really missing the big scene, probably. I like the retirement so far; I'm not cut out to be a public figure. I have time now – for Rik and for myself. And," she looked at him with the same fleeting smile, "strangely enough, I like teaching. Let's begin."

She started to explain basic positions and steps, but Miko got terminally distracted no further than a couple of sentences into her instructions. It was virtually nothing, just a very small mole above Aren's upper lip, but it seized all the attention he could spare. The words faded into background, melting into a pleasant, but indistinct murmur, and all that his mind was able to register at this moment were the movements of her mouth, her pink, unpainted lips, the full, almost pouty lower lip and sharply outlined, ironic upper one. Opening, closing, moving, forming words he didn't listen to… and stopping suddenly, pressing into each other in a show of annoyance.

"Miko!"

_Oooops! _"Yes?"

"You didn't hear a word I said here, did you?"

"Of course I did," he said quickly, suddenly ashamed to acknowledge his lapse.

"Yes, right! And what did I just say?"

He dutifully repeated the last ten or so sentences. She snorted. "Short-term memory rewinding trick. Forget I asked, I should have remembered whom I was talking with. Let's just dance; probably if you have to think where to move your legs you won't be able to concentrate quite so much on…" she suddenly blushed slightly and lamely finished, "…well, whatever."

Miko didn't know if he should be amused or flattered by this sudden switch from an exasperated, confident teacher to a flustered woman. He settled on the latter and smiled: "Good idea." Well, at least her stony mask was completely gone now.

After some inevitable confusion and fumbling, which was quickly eased with Aren's patient and concise instructions, the young Jedi got a hand on it. Or at least the most basic stuff. At first, Aren was counting for him, leading him into the turns and whirls, but after a short time she stopped to do it and smiled encouragingly. "You're catching quickly. Almost as quickly as Kyp did. Fighting and dancing are very similar, believe it or not. If you can do one, you can do the other."

"Does that mean you're good in martial arts too?"

"I was in some of them. It's kind of a family thing; our Clan was always strong in arts and fighting. But I had to choose – it's practically impossible to manage dancing on the professional level and any other serious physical activity at the same time." She smiled. "But I'm sure Rik will have it covered for both of us."

"Kyp told me he's good, but he also said his heart isn't into it."

She actually giggled, and it sent a tendril of warmth down his spine. "I'm afraid his information is a bit outdated. Rik didn't want to tell him until it's confirmed officially, but he is listed as a second seed in the three out of six categories of martial arts planetary championship for the next year. Both in unarmed combat and traditional weapons. So be careful if he offers you to spar with him." Aren shook her head. "The competitiveness of this boy, really. One of these days he's going to run out of rivals and die of boredom."

Miko almost lost his rhythm and stepped on Aren's foot. When _he_ was fourteen, his ambitions had not been higher than getting a good grade in a school to avoid his father's nagging and finding a girl to date. _Which is why, _he told himself somberly, _you'll always be no more than a sidekick. _

The song they were dancing to stopped. Aren raised the hand with a remote. "Let's try waltz. The steps are basically the same, one-two-three with an accent on one, just more gliding. Don't forget to keep your back straight. We'll try some turns as soon as you get comfortable." And she pressed the keys.

This time he recognized the tune immediately. 'La Dernier Valz', an old Corellian song, sung by Aerena Sel. She was still popular, despite her well-known staunchly pro-Imperial position, and her voice was still beautiful, strong and rich like a fine, well-aged Corellian wine. He chuckled.

"What?" asked Aren.

"Nothing. I just thought it's funny... a pro-Imperial singer in this house. Does Kyp know you like her?"

"You're overextending your legs. Remember, my steps are shorter than yours. And yes, Kyp knows. He brought this compilation. You may not believe it, but they are good friends. She thinks he's not bad for a half-breed and he thinks she's just a bit too loyal to wrong things. Somehow they managed to get along on this ground."

_Half-breed? _This time he _did_ step on Aren's foot. "Oh, sorry!"

"All right, no more talking," she said with amusement. "No distractions. You have to feel the music, not just count the steps. Let it carry you. Try to predict my movements, not just react to them. Concentrate. One, two, three..."

Miko honestly tried to follow her instructions. Basically, it was not all that different from doing katas. He banished all his questions, all concerns, and concentrated on the here and now. The music filled his awareness, beating in tact with the rhythm of his heart, becoming a part of his inner world instead of being something foreign. Gradually, he became aware of other things as well: of the warm, smooth skin of Aren's trim, narrow waist under his palm that somehow sneaked under her blouse; of her tangy scent in which the herbal undertones overlaid her own subtle, sun-enriched aroma; the raise and fall of her small, taut breasts. Unconsciously, his hand tightened, bringing her closer, eager to feel more of her body against his. Suddenly she made a tiny, almost imperceptible movement and he followed without thinking, turning around and sending her in a spin, which he regretted instantly, since it tore her skin, her smell, and everything else that was she from him, but before he could found the worlds to complain, she was back, and he pressed her to himself even closer than before, feeling with light-headed exhilaration his feet falling into a perfect pattern alongside hers. He didn't notice the exact moment she relinquished the control of the dance to him; he just turned them around and spun her like it was the easiest thing in the world, and she followed his lead perfectly, grey eyes sparkling in delight. He felt her hand moving on his shoulder, caressing the skin lightly, her thumb making small circles along his neck tendon, and it made him break into goose bumps, so exciting this small movement was...

...and the song ended.

They drifted to the stop, still clinging to each other, unable to let go. "Not bad," exhaled Aren. "Not bad at all. Another one?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if trying to fill himself with her aroma and letting his right hand to fall off her waist, although still keeping her hand in his left. "No," he said quietly. "That was beautiful, Aren. I don't want to spoil the feeling. Another dance will be different, and I... I just want to savor this one."

He felt her fingers, whisper-soft on his cheek, and opened his eyes. Her face was serious again. "You're right," she said. "There is no such thing as a second first time." Only now he noticed that her eyes seemed to be almost black, so dilated were her pupils. All of a sudden she swayed toward him, as if out of her own volition, and he felt her lips, dry and warm, trail from his Adam's apple to the hollow of his throat, feathery-light, almost weightless on his skin. He shivered, and felt her tongue dart out, just a small touch; a bit of a taste. Out of inspiration, he brought her hand, which was still resting in his, to his lips, and repeated her motion on it, trailing his lips from the tips of her fingers to the tender skin of her inner wrist, crossed by blue veins, warming her with his breathing before allowing himself the same tiny sampling of her taste. Her skin was sweet, not salty, and smelled of dried petals. Somehow that didn't surprise him at all.

They broke apart, slowly, reluctantly. Miko relished the feeling of sudden cool on this small spot at the base of his neck; he wished it wouldn't dry out and go away soon. He wished she did that again, and not only on his neck. His perfectly soft and comfy clothes felt gritty and uncomfortable against his overheated and oversensitized skin, and the familiar ache was beginning to gather in his loins, but he knew he shouldn't rush anything. What was more important, he didn't want to. All rules in this game were hers; all the steps were hers too. He was sure she would give him everything he might want – eventually, and on her own will. It was worth a little pain.

He found her eyes with his. They still were darker than usual and slightly glazed, but were returning to normal as he watched. Her hand turned in his, breaking his hold and encircling his wrist instead. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, she raised it to her lips and kissed his knuckles, without any hint of seduction, almost chastely.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"For what?" He was honestly bewildered.

Her eyes narrowed in a smile, showing just a bit of crow's feet in the corners. "For being you, Miko," she answered gently, letting go of his hand. "It's quite enough to be thankful for. Well, if our lesson is over, what are we going to do now? And, come to think about it, where is Gella?"

"I sent her to the cave to keep Rik company. I hope you don't mind."

"Not in the slightest. Playing a big brother should do him a lot of good." She extinguished the non-existing disarray in the holder with musical datacards and turned to him. "So, any ideas for the rest of the evening?"

_Except from keeping you too busy to think? _"Um, actually, I do have another request. Can you show me a holo of your father?"

Aren was obviously taken aback by this. "Yes, of course, but… why?"

Miko shrugged. "I'm curious about the man who had both you and Kyp as his children."

"Ah. Well, it's certainly not a secret. Come on."

She led him to the door to the room that, to his slight surprise, proved to be her bedroom. Miko didn't think she would allow him into her den; she struck him as a very private person. However, here he was, surveying the room that looked very much like the reflection of its inhabitant. It was smaller than Kyp's, but not by much, and just a bit austere, with strange touches of restrained luxury here and there, mostly in the beautifully carved furniture – real wood, he noticed, and, without a doubt, hand-crafted – and a couple of dynamic holosculptures in the corners. The fragrance that he already started to associate with Aren was stronger here, more dry without the warm undertones of her own skin scent. A wide bed under the blue press-patterned canopy was neatly made. No surprise, that. He was starting to think that everyone in this family had his obsession, and keeping things in order was Aren's.

The woman, meanwhile, went to the beautiful writing desk decorated with iridiite inlay and pressed something on the side with her thumb, then entered a fairly lengthy combination of numbers on the small panel that pushed out of a hidden compartment. It beeped and folded back. Miko raised an eyebrow. One certainly didn't often see this level of security when it came to old family holos.

"I thought you said it wasn't a secret?"

"My father's face isn't, but other things definitely are. Plenty of music journalists would sell their families and friends to have a peek on some of what I'm keeping here."

"Oh. Probably I shouldn't…"

"It's all right. Kyp brought you here, didn't he? All this secrecy is his idea to begin with." She took out a small, high-quality portable holoprojector and quickly surfed through the menu options. "Here," she said, as the image flashed to life above the desk surface.

Miko held his breath, looking on the half-meter-tall figure of a dark-haired, black-eyed man, staying in a confident, cocky pose, leaning on a mahogany kitara. Just as he expected, the likeness to his grandson was uncanny; however, Aren's father's face was harder, more sharply drawn, and in the same time more open and careless, more ready to show his emotions than Rik's. "Yessss," he whispered, not acknowledging that he had spoken aloud. "It's him."

Aren turned to him abruptly, almost giving herself a whiplash. "What do you mean, 'it's him'? Did you see him before?"

He hurried up with explanations. "Only by proxy. I, uh, caught some of Kyp's memories and it clicked with what Kyp had said at breakfast. I should have realized it earlier, as soon as I saw Rik. So much for my observation skills."

"What he was like?" asked Aren, biting her lips.

Miko thought about his answer for a long time. "Aren, what I saw… it was just after Kyp killed this thug and I got to see his memories about this beating, from his point of view." He shivered. "I don't even know if Kyp knows that. Force, if our roles were reversed I wouldn't have wanted _anyone_ to see something like this, that's for sure! Anyway, I saw your father only for a couple of seconds. Kyp wasn't really paying attention then. He was… well, about what you'd have expected from a man who was watching his son being beaten nearly to death. Pained, haggard. Stunned. He was biting his lips just like you do now and blood was running down his chin…" Miko turned back to the image, tracing the outer contour of the nonmaterial kitara with his finger. "This is better. This is how I'd have wanted to remember him, if he was my father." He dropped his hand and took a step back. "Funny, I don't even know what his name was."

"Rurik Segan. But most people just called him Rik."

"So Rik…"

"Yes."

"And Kyp's artistic name…"

"Yes. Not exactly conductive for all this secrecy he's so fond of, but he really felt there was no other option. He owed that to Dad. That's why he's so keen on keeping things separate. As long as no one knows there _is_ a connection, they are not going to look for one."

"And it worked for all these years?" Miko asked incredulously.

"Yes." Aren smiled mischievously. "Give your teacher some credit, Miko. He's not that easy." She pressed a button and the image of her father vanished. In its place sprung another one, bigger, brighter, obviously much more modern.

"My favorite," she said with a smile.

He didn't understand. The holo was beautiful, without doubt, clearly taken by someone who knew what he or she was doing, and was working with the first-class implement. A grey perootu cat – a kitten, actually – was poising for an attack, with all the typical feline attributes: ruffled fur, arched back, bared needle-like teeth, stiffened little tail and raised in a warning gesture paw. Miko could almost hear the hiss. Before the little creature was a young man, no more than Miko's age. He stood on his knees, leaning forward with his left hand resting on the ground and the right one raised, copying the little cat's posture perfectly. Aren snickered. "I call it 'The Great Standoff'."

Miko was lost. Why she was showing that to him? Cute and amusing as the scene was, he couldn't figure out what it had in common with their previous talk. He looked on the youth in the holo again. Straight brown hair, about two shades darker than Aren's, with thin braids braided into the long strands here and there. Dark blue eyes, full, lush, red lips. A line of small tattooed symbols resembling some ancient alphabet was running from his left temple down to his chin, bending slightly around the high cheekbone, giving the young man's appearance an exotic air. He was very pretty, handsome, even… but Miko still couldn't understand what goal Aren wanted to achieve by showing it to him and why she was looking at him with such an amused smile. Then his gaze fell on the brown-haired youth's hands – or, rather, on his left hand, with the familiar long fingers and the small circular scars on the wrist and in the middle of the palm's underside.

The understanding dawned, accompanied by Aren's uninhibited, breathless giggles. "Exactly," she squeezed out in-between the bouts of laughter. "After that he started to wear false tattoos on his hands, too. So, how do you like Rodi Segan?"

"Emperor's black bones!" exhaled Miko. "I would've never believed it, if I didn't see that." He looked on the holo from another angle. "And it's not like he changed a lot. Hair and eyes, of course. What else? Lips?"

"Yes, some. They were the most troublesome thing out of the whole lot. The permanent implants were out of question, so he had to renew them once in a week or so with a syringe and some biologically safe stuff – and believe me, you wouldn't have wanted to hear his endless bitching about having to do this. Hmmm, what else? Some small changes in the outline of the eyebrows and these rune tattoos. Effective, isn't it?"

"Very. If not for the hands I might have never recognized him at all. Who took this holo? You?"

"No, Muri." She looked at him and elaborated quickly: "Muriel Maysan."

"The Beautiful Bitch?" Miko exclaimed.

Aren looked sincerely horrified. "Mother help you if you ever call her that in Kyp's presence!"

"Hey, mass-media do it every day. She doesn't seem to mind."

"Well, Kyp does."

"Are they friends?"

"Yes, and very good ones at that. I think he looks at her as something of a little sister – she wasn't even fifteen when they met. They all began together – Kyp, or, rather, Rodi, Kyra, Muri… the music reporters are still trying to determine if some of the wild stories from their early years are true or just legends. From what Kyp told me, they had a blast of a time – at least until he broke up with Kyra for the first time."

"Kyra Atriedes?" Miko asked in disbelief.

"The one and only."

"Are you telling me she was his _girlfriend_!"

Aren threw him a slightly baffled look. "You mean you didn't know? It's certainly not a secret – you can read it in her bio. They started together, as a duo. Ever heard of 'The Executioner and the Witch'?"

Miko's face reddened. "I'm not that big on music, Aren. I know Kyra and Muriel – who doesn't, they are galactic superstars! But it never occurred to me to, say, study them. I might not have even known who Rodion Segan was if one of my friends hadn't sent me his albums. He's not as big as they are, is he?"

"He's getting there. As you can probably imagine, he was much less persistent about his music career than Kyra and Muri were. But if you want to know more about Kyp and Kyra, you'll have to ask him. Not my place to tell." She turned the holo off. "But my advice would be not to ask. It isn't a happy-end kind of a story."

The young Jedi sighed. "The more time I'm spending here the more I think I happened to wake up in some alternate reality. How on the Byss did he manage to keep all this a secret?"

"With a considerable hassle. But he thought it was worth it." She fingered the holoprojector again. "I think I have another one somewhere here, also by Muri. She's very good with a camera." She was clicking through the menu, trying to find something. "Gonadh, I don't remember… oh, this should be the one." She pressed the button - and Miko had all of a second or two to look on the holo before he heard the soft exclamation that sounded surprisingly similar to 'oh, flarg' and the image vanished.

"It's not the right one," she said with color creeping up her cheeks. "Let me see…" and she started clicking through the selection again, nervously, almost fervently.

"Aren," Miko intervened, stilling her hand, "put it back, please. I want to see it." She hesitated, not meeting his eyes and he stroked her hand, as if trying to gentle her. "Please," he said again, as earnestly as he knew how.

She bit her lip and activated the holo again. He didn't release her hand, maintaining the contact, adsorbing her anguish without really understanding what the cause was. It was just a holo, just an image of a girl in a close-fitting dancer's outfit, who sat in a tired, slumped pose looking with unfocused eyes at something that was, obviously, way behind the camera. At first look, the girl on the picture was unattractive in this peculiar teenage fashion that made all parts of the body seem mismatched. Her extremities were too thin, with all the bone prominences sharply defined, and her ungainly posture did nothing to disguise that fact. The torso, with the flat chest and narrow hips, was still more childlike than feminine. The dark suit, damp with sweat, outlined it ruthlessly. The face, flushed from exertion, was still plump from baby fat, with cheeks dominating the whole lower half of it. Only the eyes, the tired, pained, infinitely sad smoky grey eyes were beautiful; beautiful enough to make anyone who looked in them forget about all her imperfections. They spoke of a soul that was vulnerable enough to be miserable because of the body's flaws – and strong enough at the core to live with them.

Or maybe not.

_Force, it definitely explains a lot, _Miko thought, with a strange sinking feeling in his stomach. _No wonder she didn't want to show it. _Now he was almost sorry he insisted.

"I hate it," Aren said tonelessly. "I hated to be this girl. I just hated it, period. Dad always said I was just like my mother. She was nothing to look at before sixteen, but a beauty once she grew up fully. I didn't believe him then. 'Just wait,' he was telling me. 'Just you wait. I'll have to shoot suitors off from our windows one day.' But he didn't… he never…" To his horror, Miko saw that her lips begun to tremble. The next words were almost incomprehensible because of her sobs. "He never saw that. Never…"

Later Miko was unable to remember how they ended up on the floor, his arms around her shuddering body, rocking her slightly while she was pouring all her stresses and fears, old and new, against his shirt. Gradually, her sobbing subsided, although he still could feel some hot moisture soaking up in his shirt from time to time. He just sat there, with the warm, heavy weight of her body in his arms, grateful that she was allowing him to take care of her, allowing him this closeness. How long was it since she had had an opportunity to be weak, he wondered?

How long since she had felt that her weakness would not be a burden?

Rik found them in the same position some thirty minutes later. To his credit, he said nothing, just went to the bathroom and brought a washcloth, soaked in cold water, and gave it to Miko. Then he vanished again, silent and noiseless.

Much later, when they were sitting in the kitchen again and Rik was brought up to speed with the recent developments, Miko asked the question which had been bothering him since he was sitting on the floor with his arms full of a crying woman, looking at this unfortunate holo above her head.

"Why didn't you get rid of this picture if you hate it that much?" he asked her quietly.

"Because Kyp likes it," was the simple answer.

**Keriin Haslip's Memorial Hospital, Ariana, same day, evening.**

Kyp woke up instantly, as always, and realized with a jolt that he had fallen asleep – which he hadn't planned to do. This rapid succession of disasters was really getting to him; either that or he became disgustingly soft in the recent years.

He was sitting on the floor beside the bed, head pillowed on his crossed hands. He remembered withdrawing from Irek's mind at some point, maintaining just a tendril of a contact to alert him if the boy's dreams become violent again, but instead of meditation he was going to enter, he, apparently, had succumbed to sleep.

Which meant that the effort he had required to get into Irek's mind and to stay there had been considerable. Excessive use of the Force tended to sap him like this, especially without the adrenaline rush of a fight or piloting. Never before he had to use his mental powers for such a prolonged period; he must remember that this wasn't a wise idea in terms of consequences.

And he needed a drink. A really sweet one. He could already feel the familiar light dizziness. He looked at his hands. His fingers were trembling slightly, almost unnoticeably. Yes, something sweet was definitely in order. And if this hospital was not too unlike any other hospital in the galaxy… He opened a bedside drawer cum cooler. Rubi Bliel, bluefruit juice, Fizzy-Bip. The last one suited him just fine and he liberated one container, wincing at the overly brightly colored image of a pink Ewok on the plastic, and returned to his chair, sliding into his favorite knee-high position without any regard to the integrity of its upholstery.

Irek was waking up. Even if he didn't feel it through the Force, the boy's restless movements would have alerted him to the fact. The long curved lashes quivered slightly. At last the boy sighed, turned on his side toward Kyp and opened his eyes.

Of course, they weren't hazel. They were of this strange, not really definable color of a mist at nightfall – neither grey nor blue, with the strange swirls and shifts of hues. Just as otherworldly as the rest of his features.

"Feeling any better?" Kyp asked lightly, sipping his drink through the elaborately twisted orange glowing straw.

Irek's gaze sharpened, really focusing on him and the ridiculous picture he undoubtedly presented in his disheveled state, holding a can of children's drink in both hands. The boy's breath hitched for a small, almost imperceptible moment.

"So it was real. Not a dream," he said after a short pause.

"No, it was a dream. We just dreamt it together."

"I killed him."

"Yes."

"You're Kyp Durron."

Kyp sipped the overly sweet carbonated drink again and smiled. "I thought the trip through the Maw might clue you in. Does it bother you?"

The boy shrugged. "I heard what the other guy called you in this warehouse. Kyp. And then the Maw. I'm not stupid."

"No, you're not. You did great, by the way. Your reflexes are excellent." The Jedi noticed that Irek didn't answer his question, but decided to let it go for now. "Do you want something? Eat, drink? Go to a 'fresher?"

The boy flinched almost unnoticeably and averted his eyes. "Don't want anything. No, wait. Ice." Kyp looked around. There was none. "Don't call. Just bring some, OK?"

Kyp hesitated for a minute, but decided to oblige. When he closed the door behind himself, Keit was standing in the hallway, leaning his back on the wall with his fingers interlocked on his belly.

"How is he?"

"Talking. So far. I have a feeling that he's up to something."

Keit pointed wordlessly above the door. Kyp turned and looked up. It was a display with a row of numbers and graphs, changing every couple of seconds. "I'm monitoring his vitals. As of last couple of hours – nothing abnormal."

"All right. You're the professional." Kyp shrugged. "Where can I find some ice here?"

"The kitchen is down there."

When Kyp returned with a glass full of ice chips, Keit was surveying the monitor with apprehension. "You were right," he said. "He took the clip off."

"So why are you still here?"

"He's stable. I'd rather take this risk than jolt him out of the talking mood by my appearance. Go on, don't waste the time."

The boy was sitting with his back to the wall a step or two from the refresher door, pale, sweating and breathing hard. Kyp put the glass on a bedside table and turned to him. "Need a hand?"

Irek nodded miserably. Kyp scooped him from the floor, barely restricting himself from making a surprised noise upon feeling how weightless the little body was, and deposited him in the armchair. He was willing to bet the child was sick of being in the bed by now. "You know," he said conversationally, "it wasn't exactly fair – sending me out like this. If you don't want me here, just say so."

The milky skin blushed very easyly, Kyp noted with some amusement. Keit wasn't the only one who could employ a little guilt tripping when the occasion called for it. "It's not that. I really wanted this ice." As if to prove it, he grabbed the glass and popped one of the ice cylinders in his mouth, cracking in on his teeth instead of waiting for it to melt on his tongue. Kyp said nothing, just raised one eyebrow slightly. "I didn't lie to you!" the boy said hotly. "I… I like you here."

"Then what was this about?"

If he had thought Irek's face couldn't get any redder, he was wrong. The furious blush went all the way down, covering all the skin visible in the V-neck of the hospital's shirt. "I just.. I just wanted to see if I can do it," stammered the boy. "See if I can go inside. I didn't want to before, and there was always someone around, and I didn't want anyone, and… how can I leave the hospital if I can't even go into the 'fresher!"

_Of all the fraggin' gods, as Rik would say, _Kyp thought bitterly. Irek didn't just want to see if he could manage going to the refresher under his own steam. He was afraid to go into a small, enclosed, brightly lit space – and equally determined to do it without the help of anyone else's presence around.

"When did you last eat?" he asked sharply.

"Dunno. Yesterday? Before… before…"

_Before you found out that your mother is dead. _"I'm going to send for food," he said decisively. "You'll never find out if you can go _into _the 'fresher if you're unable to walk _to _it!" Besides, he could use some sustenance himself.

He stuck his head out of the door. "Food," he said succinctly to Keit. "Real food. And, for Force's sake, stop standing here. I think I can be trusted to call in case something happens!"

The doctor nodded and turned to go. Kyp closed the door and wondered briefly if there was really a smile on his friend's face or he was imagining things.

"I don't want any food," Irek said sullenly.

"If you fancy sitting here indefinitely, with your stomach aching, getting too weak even to make a couple of steps, feel free. But _I_ want to eat."

The child remained silent and pouting. After a couple of minutes he drew his legs under himself and sagged in the chair, thrusting his palms into his armpits. Kyp suppressed a sigh, took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around the narrow shoulders. The boy's despair was beginning to smother him, stirring his own freshly revitalized memories and fears.

"Irek, I know right now it seems that you'll never feel clean, or safe, or happy again," he ventured gently. "But you will, believe me. You life will never be the same, yes, but it's by no means over."

That got a reaction at last. Irek's eyes flashed angrily. "You don't know that! You don't know how I feel! No one knows!"

_Déjà vu?_ Kyp wondered mutely. Another youngster who presumed he didn't know what the kriff he was talking about. What in nine Corellian hells was this– Kyp Durron's soul-baring day?

On the other hand, the tactic he had employed with Rik would never work with Irek. The younger boy's anger wasn't an explosive load like his nephew's rage; it was more labile, shifting, eluding. Rik's fury, once exhausted, wasn't likely to return; Irek's temperament was different. He knew he would be able to coax the boy out of it with some combination of fast-talking and diversions. The problem was that his anger would be as swift to return as it was easy to banish. It wouldn't be a one-time affair; freeing the boy from the ghosts of the recent days might take years. But at least the first step was up to him. He could bear another round of soul-baring.

Besides, if he were to get through the trial, a spukamas would be out of the sack anyway.

People said that a picture was worth a thousand words. He stood silently and took off his shirt under Irek's dumbfounded stare, then turned and knelt before the chair. "Go on," he said quietly. "Take a look." He heard a loud intake of breath behind his back, a wave of surprise. Cold, clammy fingers ghosted over his skin, making him shiver nervously. In a couple of moments he decided that enough was enough and stood up, pulling the shirt back. For some unknown reason, the room seemed much colder now than it had been just five minutes ago.

"You see," he told the boy, who was looking at him with confused eyes, "you weren't this bastard's first victim. I don't even know if I was the first one. So yes, I do have _some_ idea about what you're feeling right now." He lapsed into silence, not knowing what else to say. He was fresh out of inspiration.

But for the first time in the last couple of days, luck was on his side. The door beeped, interrupting this uneasy standstill, and when he looked outside, there was a repulsor tray with steaming, fragrant food containers – and no one else.

He pulled the tray into the room. "Let's eat." _And if it _is_ from the hospital's kitchen, I just might turn Sith on them again!_

Almost two hours later Kyp closed the door to the room behind him and barely resisted the urge to sag down along the wall and wipe the sweat – this time without any mockery. Talking with Irek had proved to be tiring to the point of exhaustion. He remembered Keit's warning about not lying to the boy and smiled sardonically. There was no point in lying to somebody whose chain of logic you completely couldn't predict. After the first hour or so he had stopped even trying to second-guess the boy. He supposed that short of messing with Irek's mind he had no hope to understand how this boy's brain worked. He had a sinking feeling that now he had some idea what non-Force-sensitive people might feel when talking to a Jedi. Just as with Force intuition, Irek's leaps of logic seemed to be completely random from the outsider's point of view; his questions jumped from soul-searching to mundane ones without any visible connection. And yet, he seemed to acquire a comprehensible and pretty accurate picture out of all that. The boy was much more talkative and calm by the end of their conversation than he was at the beginning; Kyp was even able to persuade him to accept his help with the refresher, convincing the boy that he can always test himself later, when he would be stronger physically. He didn't even flinch when Kyp helped him in the shower; the child was too wobbly on his feet to do it without the assistance yet. Yes, Irek was much better now.

And Kyp's head felt like it was the size of a Death Star and twice as blown up.

The welcome committee in the small lounge now included, besides Ivar and Keit, a tall, stately woman with a sharp, distinctive, oddly handsome face and a mischievous smile. By some twist of association she strongly reminded him of Tannith Leit. She was dressed in a dark skirt and a cream blouse with a traditional Seighne ornament framing the neckline and the zigzagging pieces of codoran in her ears told him immediately that he was seeing an Old Claner like himself. _Second clan. Who is she? Ivar's wife, probably?_

In the next moment she confirmed his guess, extending her hand for a handshake. "Is mise Shaile Tharas àl Toleil. Dè an tainm a thu oirb?"

"Is mise Kyp Durron mar Rodion àl Segan," he answered absent-mindedly, shaking her hand. She had a strong grip, he noticed.

…_and what the kriff I just said! I must be really distracted out of my vapin' mind!_

After a second of blind panic he got himself under control. Really, if he had to let it slip to someone, this woman was a perfect candidate. For him, as far as the Tharas family was concerned, the gig was off when Aren had decided to announce him as her brother before the policeman. Everything else was secondary.

"Hey!" came Ivar's mockingly offended exclamation. "Basic, please!"

"You can use some practice, _luran_." She turned back to Kyp, ignoring her husband's muttered 'not at the speed you guys tend to speak' comment. "Rodion Segan?" she asked with disbelief. "As in, Aren's mysterious brother?"

"Guilty as charged," smirked Kyp. "You know my sister?"

"Who doesn't? Actually, we were good friends way back in the school, even before your father went missing. My family fancied to see me as a musician for some time, but it soon became apparent even to them that I have as much aptitude for music as, say, for grav-ball playing. I left the Art School and… hmm, I think I haven't seen her in something like fifteen years at least – apart from her shows, of course." She wrinkled her forehead. "I still don't understand – why such secrecy? You know that Seighne people would have never laid any blame on you."

"I know." It was the truth. The clan structure of their society presupposed the acceptance of revenge and collective responsibility for wrongdoings. Combined with underpopulation and a relatively low survival rate for children due to inbreeding practices, it contributed to the exceptionally low crime rate on Garos IV for millennia. For his people, according to their traditions, he was never a criminal. He still hasn't decided if he should be grateful for this fact. Aloud, he said: "I have too many enemies outside of this world, Shaile, and even more people who'd love to use me for their purposes. I don't want to give them leverage."

"Makes sense," she sighed. "Still, a pity. So, how is Irek?"

"Better, I hope." He turned to Keit. "He's willing to talk. Now it's up to you. I don't envy you, though. Two hours with him gave me a headache I've never had even after drinking Elshandruu Pica Thundercloud _and_ Flameout in one night."

The doctor shrugged his square shoulders. "I think I can manage to survive," he answered and went out without any further clarifications.

Ivar looked at the Jedi with reverent awe. "I hope you're joking! You're still alive after that?"

"Don't remind me," Kyp said darkly. "I wished I hadn't been then. Anyway, this boy's logic is completely alien to me. I think I'd tied in knots all the convolutions in my brain trying to follow it."

"Did he like the stew?" Shaile asked suddenly.

"Yeah, he did, can't fathom why, though," Kyp answered absently, rubbing his temple. "Who the kriff could get the idea of making a nerf stew with… what it was, a gourdfruit, I think?" Shaile's rich laughter made him raise his head and blush. "Stang, don't tell me, it was you?"

"I think we'll understand each other just fine," she said, still laughing.

"I'm sure you and Irek are perfectly suited for each other," Kyp said sarcastically. "Gourdfruit, gods! But seriously, Shaile. Did you think it through? He's not what can be called an easy child."

She sobered as well. "I'm sure it's the right thing to do. I'll spare you listening to my reasons, though. I'm afraid they might make your headache even worse."

"Is, by any chance, a desire to spite the Fifth Clan a bit one of those reasons?"

"Probably," she said seriously. "But not because I want some petty revenge for the disagreements our clans have had in the last thirty years, but because I think it was an incredibly wrong thing to do. This circle of hate has to stop somewhere. This child had no part in this war, he wasn't even born yet." She suddenly smiled this open smile of hers. "Of course, a petty revenge is an added bonus."

He looked at her, aghast. "You know," he said after some pondering, "there is a woman I hope you never meet. Her name is Mara. Mara Jade Skywalker."

"Are you afraid they will kill each other?" asked Ivar, not quite joking.

"Quite the opposite. Good night, guys. Don't call me before noon, or I might be tempted to do something very unsuitable for a Jedi."

He was surprised to see the almost empty lobby and the dark violet, nearly black skies outside. He looked at his chrono and whistled quietly. It was almost twenty three hundred. Too late to comm Rann Na Móna, too late for anything except getting home and going to sleep. He suddenly remembered the spy he had felt upon entering the hospital and looked around. Everything was quiet; in the Force, too. Probably he was mistaken; unlikely as it was, Kyp desperately wished it to be so.

Unfortunately, he wasn't. He was picked up again barely a hundred meters from the entrance to the hospital. This time he was absolutely sure there was no error – his pursuer was much more blatant in his intentions than he was hours ago in the lobby. The focus with which the spy followed him was almost palpable; still, oddly enough, it carried no hostility.

Kyp didn't try to look back. The street was swarming even in such a late hour and it would have served no purpose other than alarming his shadow. He casually strolled with the crowd, enjoying the walk, looking over the store windows, pretending to be paying attention to the various females. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, he slipped into a narrow, almost completely dark service alley behind a flower shop and melted in the shadows in one of the niches, quietly drawing one of his boot knives – just in case.

Surely enough, soon a shadow flashed briefly at the entrance to the alley, obscuring the street lamps for a moment and vanishing again. Kyp was beginning to think that his pursuer wanted to be discovered – he didn't think the spy of this class would swallow such a simplistic bite.

The shadow appeared again, much closer this time, not giving him an opportunity to do any sort of a detailed Force scan. There simply wasn't enough time for that anymore. Now, at least, he could see that it was a woman – which, of course, didn't tell him anything significant. The random light rays from the street illuminated her from the back, completely obscuring her face.

As soon as she moved past him, he whirled behind her back noiselessly and lightly tapped her neck with the flat of his blade. She froze immediately, as if she was waiting for this all along. He rolled his eyes. There was no 'as if' about it.

"Looking for the evening dose of adrenaline?" he asked crossly.

Kyp could practically feel her smile. "Well, hello to you too, Wonderboy."

He withdrew his blade and spun her so than her face came into the scant light. This manhandling was just for show; the nickname she called him by told him who she was immediately. Not to mention that he was able to recognize her presence now, when they were both out of the crowd. Didn't mean that he didn't have a right to be irritated. "You should know I hate this moniker. What the kriff are you doing here, Shada?"

"Trying to get your attention."

"That's obvious. Aside from that."

"I was trying to solve the same problem from the other side. Do you really want to talk about it here?"

She was right. It wasn't a place for an important talk. "Let's go," he said curtly, heading back to the street.

The tall dark-haired woman matched his steps easily. They walked in silence, which was neither hostile nor amiable. Just neutral. After ten minutes or so, when it became apparent where they are heading, she turned to him, a bit surprised. "Your apartment?"

"Yes. My family is out of town. Unless you object?"

"No. I can use some caf myself. Whatever they are serving around this hospital is weaker than khasva's piss."

The epithet startled him. From what he saw of Shada D'ukal before, she was usually much less vehement in her verbal descriptions. "Just how long have you been hanging around there?" he asked, having some suspicions about what could have caused the former Mistryl to lose her usual restraint.

"Two days."

"Force. Why didn't you just call me?"

"Because I didn't have your recent frequency and because I wasn't sure it was you until you showed up. Can we save this talk for later?"

"Of course."

Less than ten minutes later, he opened the door to his residence and let Shada in mutely. While he prepared the caf and some finger food, she examined the kitchen and other rooms with the help of a small, sophisticated device gleaming with various light indicators. She finished just after he had poured the caf in the mugs and retrieved some cream from the fridge.

"Nice bug-wand," he nodded at the gadget. "A new one?"

"Custom model," she said, hiding it back in her bag. "Karrde ordered just five of them for now. It works on hidden mikes as well as tracers. Want one?"

"Sure I do. Where did this generosity come from, may I ask? I'm not in the organization anymore."

"Sure you aren't, Wonderboy," she answered, deadpan.

"I'm not!" he protested hotly.

She didn't deign to answer. "The boss thinks you might need it soon. You are lucky no one has traced you to this planet yet. When did you last check the account he set up for you?"

Kyp shrugged. "A week ago, probably. No, more. Ten days."

Shada looked at him with disapproval. "If you had bothered to do it since my life would have been much easier."

"Sorry for that," he said not wholly sincerely. "I'm on vapin vacation, in case you didn't notice this fact yet. Why didn't you wait for me here instead of the hospital? It's not like Karrde doesn't know where I live in Ariana!"

This time she flashed him a cold smile. "Yes, right. You might have recognized me, of course, but the rest of your family would have shot me first and been sorry later. If I allowed them, that is."

She was right again. It really was a stupid suggestion. He was once again irritated about how much the former smuggler chief and some of his people knew about his life, but that didn't make it any more excusable.

"All right," he said wearily. "_Why _are you here?"

She looked at him over the rim of the mug. "Tell me first, did the police find out who'd hired Narto?"

"If you mean the kidnapper, yes."

"Did they tell you who it was?"

"Yes."

She sighed and quickly drew a couple of letters on the table with her finger. Initials. "Him?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do you have proof?"

"Yes." He fingered a small data rod in his pocket, which Ivar had slipped in his hand when they were saying goodbye, and chuckled. "I'm starting to feel like a broken recorder. Your side of the story now, Shada. I thought Karrde was shutting down the Agency?"

"Just reorganizing. Although he'd prefer some people to think that we're out of business." She drummed her fingers on the table then suddenly said: "Pellaeon ordered this investigation. Or, rather, asked. Unofficially."

"Pellaeon? So he's aware of the situation?"

"Apparently. He's tied by the Moffs Council, though. As much as he'd like to have our subject removed, it's not that easy. Whatever mode of confrontation he chooses, he will need something to persuade the Council. Convincing evidence. I didn't find any, only rumors and words of the criminals." For the first time since the beginning of the conversation she was starting to show some signs of irritation. "I was able to find out who had been hired for this, but I lost them on Yaga Minor and it took me some time to find out where they went. I was buying my way through the underworld of this planet for a week…"

"Why didn't Karrde call me?"

She raised a dark eyebrow sarcastically. "He did, as soon as I told him where they ended up. Should I ask you again when were the last time you checked your account?"

"Aaaaargh!" He barely resisted the urge to bang his head against the table. "All-kriffin'-right, consider me properly chastened."

The former Mistryl warrior just shrugged. "As I was saying, I was looking for information for a week, but when I finally had got a lead to their location, when I arrived, the area was swarming with the police. So as soon as some details about this rescue came out, I decided to wait in the hospital. Chances were that the Jedi they talked about was you, of course, but even if not, I thought I'd have better luck to get something coherent from one of your guys than from the police."

He smirked. "A realistic expectation."

She remained unruffled. "Yes."

It was his turn to take a pause. "So what do you want from me?" he asked after all.

"Give me the proofs you have," Shada said calmly, as if she was asking him for another cup of caf.

He looked at her in amazement. No, she was completely serious. "You do understand, I hope, that delivering them is my responsibility and if they won't get to Pellaeon, I'm toast as far as the police on this planet is concerned?"

"Yes. But unless you're willing to deliver them to Karrde yourself as soon as possible, you'll have to do what I said. We can't wait. Each passing day increases the chances that the Moff will find out what happened to the people he hired. And then he'd try to get rid of any remaining evidence."

_Which just might include another bunch of children. _She was right – again. He didn't have a choice. Leaving the planet now might be considered fleeing from justice. He would suffer all the consequences for such an act. And he treasured his life here too much to even consider such an outcome.

Kyp reached into his pocket and took out the data rod. "We'd better make a copy, just in case."

"Reasonable," agreed Shada. "And I better check if this is really what we need."

It didn't take long. They were done in less than half an hour and the data rod was once again resting safely in his pocket. Shada, though, was lingering at the comp station, turning her copy in the long, strong fingers. For the first time since their meeting in the alley he was able to catch a whiff of an emotion from her. Hesitancy. For a short bizarre moment he was afraid she was going to ask something personal – he had no idea what, exactly; possibly it was just that kind of a day. Everyone was asking something personal of him, why not Shada? – but then her expression hardened again.

"Durron," she said quietly, "you do realize that Pellaeon will not be able to use his people if…"

He rolled his eyes. "It's patently evident, Shada. This leaves only you, me and, probably, Fein."

"Fein is out of this. It's not exactly his specialty. He's a weapon expert and a marksman, not a covert agent."

"Even better," he said wearily. "Just let me know which one of us will have the pleasure if it comes to this. I was ready to kill him anyway. Someone has to."

Shada stood up. "Don't forget to check your account then. I won't use the comm." Then, suddenly, she smiled, and this time it was a real smile. Still small, but real. "Enjoy the rest of your vacation. I think I'll take this one. You know my views on slavery."

She was almost at the entrance door when he gathered enough brain cells together to scramble and call after her. "Shada! Thank you."

Something briefly softened in her face. "Likewise, Wonderboy." And then she was out, the slender, strong figure dissolving in the shadows as if born to them.

Kyp shook his head. If she was indeed Karrde's lover, as he suspected after seeing them together a couple of times, then his former boss was one hell of a man.


	11. Part 10

**Part 10**

**Rann Na Móna, 25 ABY, next morning.**

Miko had his lightsaber in hand even before he opened his eyes. In fact, the yellow blade sizzled into existence precisely at the moment his eyelids flew open and stopped, humming quietly, less than ten centimeters from the amused dark eyes of his very early morning visitor.

"If you singe these sheets," Rik said in a disgustingly even voice, "Mom is going to be royally pissed."

The young Jedi killed the blade and threw now-harmless metallic cylinder at the nearest armchair. "So I'm a bit edgy. Sue me."

"In your dreams," snorted Rik. "I was curious. Sue me."

Miko rubbed his eyes and stared at the teenager in disbelief. "Let's get it straight. You were curious about how I would react, so you sneaked in on a Jedi with a lightsaber at… what time is it now?"

"Six hundred fifteen. And yes."

"Are you just addicted to the thrill or what?"

Rik graced him with a small but insufferably superior smile. "Both, but the first is irrelevant."

Miko almost groaned aloud. Kyp was wrong; Rik wasn't confusing – he was downright irritating. "And why is it irrelevant, may I ask?"

"Because there is no thrill for me. I knew I was out of your range, unless you would have jumped off the bed, which is a _slightly_ difficult thing to do when you're lying flat on your back under a comforter. I would have been on the other side of the room before you lifted your bum off the mattress."

Miko rolled his eyes so hard that he thought he felt something giving up inside the eye sockets. "So you were just amusing yourself on my account. You know, you have a weird idea of hospitality."

All the glee vanished from Rik's face, as if blown away by wind. "Hospitality has nothing to do with it," he said with a distinct coldness in his voice. "You're the one who has to cover Kyp's back most of the time. And I want him to stay alive until I can take over the job."

A shiver trailed down Miko's spine. "Thanks for the compliment," he said with much more of a bite in his voice than he liked. "I've managed so far."

"Nothing personal," Rik answered with the same cold detachment. "I like you, actually. But Kyp comes first."

Miko shivered again. This ruthlessness was hard to swallow coming from the boy who up to now seemed to be perfectly friendly, if a little odd. It was even more bizarre to hear something like this coming out of the mouth of a fourteen-year-old and believe it fully. _He's a menace,_ came a sudden thought.

_Why? _the familiar wry voice asked in his mind.

_I don't know!_

_Then think again!_

Miko shook his head. He didn't often have these internal dialogues with his teacher; mostly, he suspected, because Kyp was right there with him most of the time. However, it was beginning to happen more and more frequently when they got separated. He wondered if it was something intrinsic for all Jedi teacher-student pairs, or a phenomenon peculiar only to the two of them.

"Are you going to go for a run?"

"What?" Miko concentrated on here and now again, with some effort. "Oh, yes, of course. Why?"

"We can do it together. There is only one path, anyway."

Another test? It seemed to be highly likely. But a refusal would mean… what, exactly? That he was afraid of a teenage boy, his teacher's nephew to boot? Very becoming.

"All right. Just give me some time to dress and eat something." If Rik thought he was going to be intimidated, the youngster was dead wrong.

"Twenty minutes. Outside," was the curt answer, but Rik's white teeth flashed in a brief, anticipatory smile before the boy disappeared behind the door. Miko wasn't sure he liked this grin. It just screamed shit-eating.

He dressed quickly in his workout clothes: a tee-shirt and short leggings, with very well worn high boots. Kyp got them for his student as a present during their first months together, and they never gave Miko's feet any problems in all those years. They were obviously quite expensive; no pair of shoes that durable could be cheap. They were starting to fry around the edges, though, and Miko was beginning to think with trepidation of the day when he would have to put them in a disintegrator. Only the Force knew when he would have money and opportunity to buy something just as good. He strapped the lightsaber to his right leg; the belt would be really uncomfortable with this outfit.

He quickly found a couple of cookies and some berries in the kitchen. The caf would have to wait until later. Still with the last cookie in hand, he flung the door to the outside open and stopped frozen in the doorway, momentarily startled to immobility.

The sun was rising almost directly opposite to the house, right above the now invisible entrance to the valley, and its yellow, slightly turquoise-tinted rays were falling upon Rann Na Móna with the weight of a torrential rain. But before Miko's eyes closed, unable to cope with such a change in luminosity, the picture he was seeing had imprinted itself on his retina and stayed there, on a red-wine background of his closed eyelids; the flowing black figure rimmed with glowing halo.

An image of Rik, staying erect and sure, tight as a coiled string, on the top of the big boulder, longish hair flapped by a breeze, lifting his hands palms up in front of his face, as if praying to the rising sun.

Miko made a step back and closed the door. Still without opening his eyes, with a hand on the doorknob, he let his forehead rest on the smooth, cold wood for a moment. He had an irrational feeling that he had spied on something private.

_He's a menace…_

_Why?_

_I don't know…_

'Confusing' was starting to sound exactly right.

Miko groaned in frustration and opened the door again, this time contracting his pupils beforehand. Probably it was this; probably it was some unnoticeable shift in lighting, but this time Rik's figure seemed neither threatening nor mysterious. Just a teenager, staying on a piece of rock.

Rik turned his head when Miko was in a couple of steps from him. "Kyp called."

"And?"

The boy jumped to the ground. "He's going to stay in Ariana for a couple days more. He said that the situation is better than we were afraid of, but he needs to stay close. Oh, and he said that you're going to get your wish. Looks like you're stuck on this planet for some time. He'll call again later. Let's go."

They started slowly, with Rik leading the way. Up along the valley, past the spring, past the red-leafed threes and past the iridescent security field, which Rik deactivated and then activated again without stopping. The boy established a good tempo, which was more than adequate as a warm-up even for Miko. The young Jedi hid his smile. It was not a good idea for a long distance running, unless Rik was even stronger than he estimated. If Rik hoped to one-up him without difficulty, he was going to be disappointed anyway, but it might be easier than Miko thought.

They reached the entrance and as soon as they broke through the shadows of rock pillars that guarded the entry like magic sentinels, all thoughts about competition and alpha-male games went right out Miko's head in a blink of an eye. It was a full night on their way to Rann Na Móna the day before yesterday; therefore, he was completely unprepared to see the multicolored sea of flowers that ran its smooth waves from the rugged harshness of Tahika Cliffs to the thick dark strip of the forest at the horizon. The fragrant mist of evaporating morning dew reached his senses, and if not for the look Rik shot at him over his shoulder, Miko might have stopped altogether to savor the experience. But he was already warmed up, and without any conscious input from his brain, his legs continued to carry him along the barely visible path between two walls of stalks of all colors from green to brown that carried their flowers' chalices to his waist level. The sun was to his right now. It was rising higher and higher, assuming that white-hot olivine color that surprised him when he first set foot on this planet, but which he was starting to like more and more as the days passed.

Miko was beginning to fall into the familiar rhythm, very nearly losing awareness of everything except his body, the solid thump of his legs on the ground below and the swishing of blood in his ears. Force, but he missed this! It wasn't precisely a meditation; more like a temporary freedom of everything except for his body and the immediate surroundings. His senses assumed the keenness he wasn't able to achieve in any other state without using the Force. The warmness of the sunlight, the heady smell of flowers and fertile earth, the lavish splashes of vibrant colors – he was soaking everything with uninhibited gluttony, storing the memories, the smells, sights and feelings to keep him warm later, in the cold emptiness of the thin atmosphere, in the warped nothingness of hyperspace, amongst the blurred light lines that should have been dots.

He didn't notice that he had left Rik behind a long time ago, using a temporary widening of the path to pass him. He was running faster and faster, lengthening his strides, less and less aware of the ground under his feet. Even the fact that the shadow of his body was on the other side now took him some minutes to register. The rocks that were to the left from him when they begun the run were less than half a kilometer and right ahead now. Miko slowed down and looked back. Rik was far behind; his black-haired head no more than a dot. But he was going steadily, as far as Miko was able to see_. If he is as smart as it seems to be, he should know better than try to keep up with the speed I set, _Miko thought with a tingle of guilt. Point-scoring or no point-scoring, he was seven years older than the boy. Should have known better, too.

Definitely should have known better, he suddenly understood with irritation. Now he would have to wait for Rik, since he didn't have an access to the interdiction field. Oh well, there were worse fates in the Galaxy.

Twenty minutes later Miko was observing Rik's forthcoming from the ledge about halfway up the nearest stone column, which he climbed on to pass the time. The teen's breathing was a bit heavy and sweat was running down his face and torso, but, all in all, he didn't look exhausted or even unduly tired. Miko chuckled quietly. So he could be prudent when situation required. Good.

Rik threw his head back. "Are you going to climb it all the way up?"

"No." It was only ten meters or so. Miko jumped down, cushioning his landing with the Force.

"Handy," Rik observed with the expressionless face. Miko thought he heard an undertone of accusation in this one word.

"I don't use the Force when I'm running," he answered the unvoiced question. "Unless I really have to."

The impassive expression on Rik's face was broken by a crooked grin. "You could have given me a warning, at least."

It was Miko's turn to try his best in shit-eating smiles department. "Like you gave me this morning, right?"

This time the teen laughed outright. "Touché." But his eyes didn't lose their cold look.

"Don't feel badly," Miko said softly. "I'm considered the best runner in the Academy, at least in my age group."

Rik shrugged. "Well, so am I. And you left me behind as if I was running on glue."

"Rik, you're fourteen."

The boy bristled. "So?"

"I'm twenty one. No matter what training you're getting, your body doesn't work like mine. You can't overcome teenage metabolism by the force of will alone. Give yourself some time."

Miko didn't catch everything Rik hissed under his breath in response, but he thought the words 'bloody mantra' were included in this diatribe. They started their way back into the valley by unspoken consent, not running this time, just walking briskly.

"So," Rik asked flippantly while deactivating the field, "you're not tired yet?"

Miko huffed. "How many kilometers was that? About twelve? Of course not."

"So you're up to a little spar then?"

_Oops._ Evidently, he was wrong thinking that Rik wouldn't want a rematch. The boy just chose his own ground and ambushed him with this proposition with embarrassing easiness. Probably he _was_ too elated about showing Rik off. How mature.

The black eyes started to narrow in undisguised amusement. Miko sighed. "Is this the part where I'd say yes, of course, and you can land me on my bum a couple dozen times to soothe your scratched pride?"

The second time this morning he saw Rik's face assuming this nauseatingly familiar blank stony look. Miko briefly wondered whom it originally belonged to – Aren? Kyp? Their father? For all their differences in appearance, as soon as it came on their faces, any casual observer would have no problem to identify them as the members of the same family.

"I'm glad you decided to let it on the open," the teenager said coldly. "I can play mind games with the best of 'em, but it gets tedious. First of all, you can no more scratch my pride than you can scratch these rocks. I was miffed, yes, because I let myself forget the first rule Kyp taught me when I was still thinking the kitchen table was tall. Let me see, do you know what it is?"

"About survival being the most important thing in the world?"

"Close enough. But no. 'You can meet someone stronger than you at any given day.'"

"…and when you do, remember that survival is the most important thing in the world," the Jedi finished for him in a sing-song voice.

Rik smiled suddenly. Miko still would be hard pressed to call this a warm, friendly smile, but the amount of vague nastiness in it was definitely decreasing. "Nice to know you remember," he said seriously. "Yes, I was irked, but not at you. Got it?"

"Yes," Miko said evenly. He was sure Rik was far from finished.

"Good. Now let's talk about you. Seems that you didn't believe what I'd said before. Pity. I do not lie."

"I'm not sure I'm getting what you mean," Miko said carefully.

"It's simple, really. Mother and Uncle are the most important people in my life. Mom likes you. Good. Kyp trusts you. Good. It's a fine recommendation for the beginning. But you know what? Both of them happened to be wrong before. I want to form my own opinion about the man who fights by my uncle's side and might be sleeping with my mother."

Rik wasn't touching him at all, but it definitely felt as if he was jabbing his finger in Miko's chest. Painfully.

_He's a menace…_

_Why?_

And suddenly Miko got his answer with cutting clarity. _"I want Kyp to stay alive until I can take over the job," _Rik had said. Take over the job…

His, Miko's, job.

His place.

_He's a menace…_

Oh, yes.

No, he didn't consider Rik a menace to the Galaxy or some such dire foreboding. He wasn't uneasy in the boy's company because he thought there was some seed of evil sprouting in his soul. The Force hasn't been warning him of anything. It was precisely what it was – just his subconscious trying to get some attention from the conscious but oblivious part of his brain, no more no less.

Why did he never think about what would he do with his life when his apprenticeship with Kyp was over?

The answer was as simple and clear as the sun above his head. Because he never had any intention of leaving his Master. Ever.

Indeed, Kyp never talked with him about any plans that would include the abortion if their partnership. But did he really intend to keep his student with him for the rest of his life?

No, of course not. No sane person would do that. Rik's presence brought this fact home with abundant clarity. Here was somebody whom Kyp, to all evidence, raised and groomed purposely to be his partner, with whom he shared not only the family bond but a common passion. No wonder he thought Kyp's nephew was dangerous. Of-kriffin'-course he was. And now Miko knew to whom.

"Shavit," he whispered with suddenly numb lips. "Twice and trice shavit. Ten times flargin' shavit!"

The tanned hands clasped his shoulders and shook him none too gently. "What in the world is wrong with you?" came an irritated question.

"Nothing, Rik," Miko answered weakly. "Really, nothing. I just put two and two together."

"What, got a four and can't stop marveling at the intrinsic beauty of this fact?"

Yeah, Kyp was right; the business end of this boy's tongue was certainly abrasive. "Yes," he answered solemnly. "I do believe you're correct." He knew his solemnity was just on this side of mockery, if that, but he wasn't able to resist giving as good as he got, even with a different coin.

Rik's face suddenly changed its expression from pissed off to amused. "You are crazy," he said seriously, putting an emphasis on each word. "That's alright. We all are. But I want to see if you are crazy _enough_."

"And to see that you want to spar with me?"

"You can see a lot in the way someone is fighting. Not just the style, or strength – everything. You can't hide who you are in a fight."

Was he delusional or did he hear a very similar phrase from Kirana Ti a couple of years ago? Miko sighed and resigned himself with a perspective of being beaten up before a breakfast. _Lovely, just lovely._

He couldn't tell Rik no, though. If their roles were reversed, he would have done the same thing. If he thought Rik to be a menace, then it was even more apt the other way around. However little he liked that, he was a danger to Rik's world, an unknown quality; someone who took the place Rik surely considered rightfully his. If the boy wouldn't accept him, he didn't even want to count the troubles it would cause.

"All right," he said with a sigh.

Rik smirked. "Such enthusiasm. Don't worry, I'm not into injuring novices."

_You little arrogant show-off, _Miko thought sourly. _Let's see if I can surprise you some more._

Twenty minutes later he had to admit that the teen had a very good cause to be arrogant. At first, Miko attempted to outwait him, using the old and true tactic of forcing the opponent to attack first. They circled each other for a minute, Miko in a standard half-crouched defensive stance, Rik deceptively relaxed and casual. Then the boy smiled at him.

"Sensible approach," he said approvingly. "But it works only when you're against an opponent who is not much stronger than you. Or…" he drawled, "just better."

In the next moment, observing the strange coarse purple grass before his eyes, Miko tried to figure out how he got there. Force, but the boy was fast! He quickly cast his memory back, glad that he had this option. So, Rik attempted a hit to his chest – simple and straightforward, or so it seemed at the time. His response was automatic – he blocked the blow and moved his right hand lower to counter a kick to his abdomen that usually followed after. It was a standard combination,and his response was just as standard and well-learned – and completely wrong in this case. Because instead of doing the expected, Rik used the momentum that the force of Miko's parry gave him to spin around his own axis and almost behind Miko's back and deliver a well-placed kick at the back of the knee of Miko's supporting leg.

The pattern pretty much repeated itself during the next five minutes. He had to lift his body from the ground seven more times; Rik, it seemed, barely moved from the spot where he was staying. No matter how the boy was beginning his sequence, Miko's learned responses proved to be completely ineffective. Rik managed to find a new unconventional follow-up each bloody time. He had to give it to the boy, though – he was true to his word. As humiliating as this trashing had been, his adversary was obviously taking care not to cause him any lasting damage.

"I was wrong," Rik announced suddenly while Miko was getting back on his feet for the eighth time. "You're not a novice." A wary disbelief that the young Jedi felt upon hearing this proved to be valid just a moment later, when the boy continued: "You're a zygote."

"What?"

"No offence meant. You can even be a pretty promising zygote. Who the kriff was teaching you self-defense – some retired army instructor?"

Miko felt his cheeks flaming. It was indeed the case, at least for the first year. After that Corran Horn took over their training in this area. Well, he supposed that the former CorSec could be counted as such too.

Rik, obviously, read the answer on his face. "You shouldn't rely so much on a couple of dozen standard combinations, no matter how well you've learned them. They can save you nine times out of ten, but the tenth will be enough to kill you. How did you manage to spend more than two years around Kyp without learning that much?"

"I guess I just wasn't interested," Miko admitted reluctantly. "I don't like hand-to-hand combat. I prefer lightsaber."

"Oh, yes," snorted Rik. "The true weapon of a Jedi. Nice and shiny and elegant. Oh, and noble. Much better than getting down and dirty."

If Miko thought it was impossible for him to blush more, he was wrong. As sarcastic and unjust as Rik's assessment seemed to be, the boy nailed his reasons down very accurately. "There were too many other things to learn," he said, unable to help getting defensive. "Piloting, for example."

"Let me guess," the boy said conversationally. "You voiced this opinion to Kyp a couple of times, and he didn't push you further, just slipped a bit of advice here and there?"

Miko looked at the boy with astonishment, which was, at the second thought, a little silly. Rik might have been younger, but he knew Kyp Durron for much longer time than Miko did. "He said that I should understand that I'm wrong by myself. As I recall, the exact phrase was that 'a willing student is a hell of a lot more fun'."

"Gods, he's doing that with you too!" Rik laughed suddenly, and his high-pitched laugh seemed to be incongruously childish in comparison with all his previous behavior. "Nice to hear I'm not the only one." Before Miko could digest this comment, he continued: "But, honestly, you better rethink that soon. Or else."

"Or else what? You'll beat me bloody?"

"I just might! You're endangering more than yourself, and I don't have Kyp's patience. You think your lightsaber will help you against someone who is trained in kajete, echani or teras kasi? Come on, try it!"

"Listen, I wasn't using the Force before. If I do…"

"Oh, spare me," Rik interrupted snidely. "I'm scared shitless, o great Jedi. _I said take it!_"

The last words lashed Miko like a whip. _Who on Biss does the little whelp think he is?_ A sudden surge of cold, calculating anger made the fingers of his right hand twitch in anticipation, as if already closing around the familiar metal handle. He shook his head. Where did that come from? Not that he ever got angry, but something about this particular emotion felt wrong. Miko took a deep, cleansing breath and tried his best to remember that he was an adult, he was a Jedi Knight, and letting a fourteen-year-old teen to push his buttons was unseemly at the very least.

"You can switch it to stun settings, if it will make you feel better," Rik told him fiercely. "But if you try to walk out on me now, I swear, I _will_ beat you bloody."

At last, Miko snapped: "All right. Just remember – you wanted that!" He snatched the lightsaber and adjusted the power settings to the lowest level, but didn't ignite it yet. Instead he fell into basic Ataro defending position, bending and spreading his legs wide and taking the handle of the weapon in a two-handled grip. "I don't want to do this," he said with a feeling. "It's not a training lightsaber. Even on minimal power it's going to hurt."

"Tough titty," answered Rik. "I'm not giving you a choice. Just like in real life." And with that he lunged forward, as if trying to put all the weight of his body in a powerful win-or-die kind of charge.

In the same moment as he ignited his lightsaber, Miko sensed what Rik was going to do, but it didn't help him any. It just served to confuse him for a tiny, crucial moment, thinking of how he should react instead of reacting, and while he tried to adjust his block, Rik dived under his guard in a lighting-quick motion, landing on his shoulder and sliding up to his waist between Miko's legs. In the next instant Rik's foot kicked the lightsaber out of Miko's hands, making it swirl in a bright yellow ark in the air. Miko's legs were swept from under him in a sideway motion and by the time Miko's body hit the ground, Rik was already halfway up, somehow avoiding being crushed in Miko's unaesthetic landing. They froze, looking at each other and breathing heavily, Rik from exertion, Miko from the fall. A wide stripe of red was adorning the boy's cheek; apparently, Rik didn't manage to avoid the coarse grass entirely.

"You wouldn't have been able to do this if we were fighting on duracrete," Miko squeezed out.

"Yap, yap, yap," Rik answered rudely. "Excuses. I would have thought of something else. Did I make my point clear, or do you want a second demonstration?" He stood up and went to pick up Miko's lightsaber, which, thankfully, switched off at collision.

No, he didn't need a second demonstration. One was plenty. Miko had to give that to the boy; when he wanted to make a point, he made it with abundant clarity. Unspent irritation, however, demanded him to do something. Anything but lying there timidly like a complete loser. The thought of giving Rik a nice Force shove occurred to the young Jedi for a moment, but then he rejected the idea. It would have been a clear aggression, and, beside that, he supposed he owed Rik something for just landing him on his ass. He could have gone for Miko's balls instead, which would have been an easy thing to do from the ground, and even more spectacular in terms of results. However, if Rik could make a point, so could he. Showing his back to the adversary, no matter how incapacitated he was, as Rik was doing now, wasn't a good idea.

He fumbled around quietly. Ah, here it was, a small spheroid he had felt under his hand when falling down. A gorapple. Perfect. Miko took aim and threw it at Rik's behind with all the force he could muster without giving himself away.

What he got as a result was another surprise. The teen pivoted on one foot, ignited the lightsaber he had in his hand with a fairly plasticized motion and sliced the flying fruit in two with a strange wrist flick, as if he was playing some sport game instead of operating one of the most deadly weapons in the Galaxy. Then he thumbed the saber off and picked one of the gorapple's halves from the ground.

"Still unripe, darn it," he said around a mouthful of the fruit, tossing the weapon to its owner. "You should see your face now. I wish I had a camera. Relax, I've played with Kyp's lightsaber since I was four, but if you ever tell this to mom, we'll deny everything to the last breath."

Miko checked the power settings. It was at half-power. If he had insisted on repeating the 'lightsaber against bare hands' experiment now and managed to hit Rik… even at a half-power, the saber could have easily inflicted a serious injury. The sliced gorapple was a testament to this. Obviously, Rik hadn't been kidding about being addicted to the thrill. But how did he manage to react that quickly? Rik couldn't see him throwing the fruit, of that Miko was sure.

A shrill noise suddenly broke the silence. Rik muttered an unintelligible curse under his breath and fished his comlink from under his shirt.

"Hey, I thought you're sleeping," he said without bothering with a greeting. "What happened with 'consider me dead until thirteen hundred'?" He winced and held the small device farther from his ear. "Listen, there is no reason to use this tone. It's just a spar. No harm done." Pause. "Yes, I'm very well aware that he's your student. So am I, if you care to remember that. So I gave him a little peer-to-peer lesson, what's the problem?" This time Kyp's response was so loud that Miko could hear the irritated tones from where he was sitting, if not the words. "You vapin' do not know if you _can_ afford to wait," Rik exploded suddenly. "You know this as well as I do, you are just exercising in denial. Well, I am not!"

Miko reached out and gently pried the comlink from Rik's fingers. "Kyp," he said firmly. "Thanks for your concern, but nothing is wrong. Rik was just making a point, and I'm glad he did. I'm alright."

He heard a gradual exhale. "Glad to hear it. Didn't seem like that a couple minutes ago. Don't let him push you – this boy can drive a Bendu monk to violence."

"A little too late for that," Miko said ruefully. "But I don't regret it."

"What exactly did he do?" Kyp asked suspiciously.

"When are you going to be back?" Miko answered with his own question.

"I don't know. From two to four days, I think."

"Then we'll talk about that when you return."

"Deal. Tell Aren and Rik to watch evening news. There will be something you all want to know."

"Copy, Lead." He disconnected and returned the gadget to Rik.

"Thanks," the boy said sullenly. "I thought he's going to rip me a new one. But if you told him the truth, I don't regret it either."

They sat in silence for some time. The sun was already high, and the purple grass was beginning to emit a tart, heady aroma. It seemed to soothe the anger and irritation that sparkled between them since the beginning of this day, vaporizing the hard feelings in the scented heat. To Miko's astonishment, he found out that he felt almost… companionable toward Rik now.

"I don't understand," the teenager said suddenly. "I can't believe it never occurred to you before. If no one else, Kyp should have shown you what a really well trained martial artist can do."

Miko thought about his answer for a long time. "Kyp can beat me any day of the week in any way he wants. I always knew that. I think I took it for granted. When Kyp Durron can beat you in thirty seconds flat, it's no surprise, you know?" He racked his hand through his hair. "I thought it's just him. I was ranked quite well in this department in the praxeum. There were people who could beat me, but they were usually older… stronger Jedi than I am. I didn't think much about that. No offence, Rik, but having a fourteen-year-old beating me the way you did – it's quite a shock."

Rik's smile just barely touched the corners of his lips. "None taken. I can spar with you every day while you're here, if you want. I promise to be less… errrr… shocking."

"Thank you," Miko said seriously. "I'd like that."

"Let's go home," Rik propositioned, getting up. "I'm hungry and Mom probably, is thinking gods know what by now."

Miko rose too. "Rik," he said hesitantly, "do you mind…"

"That mom wants to sleep with you? I'm rather relieved, in fact." He caught Miko's astonished look. "What the kriff did you expect to hear? She's not dead, she's not old, and she can't continue to live without some man in her life forever. It's eating on her as it is. And you seem to be way more decent than her last _suiri_. I never liked him. Too gallant, too romantic… smooth talks, well-arranged flowers and dinners with candles kind of guy, y'know. He reeked of pretence. Then he just vanished one day, and that was all. I wasn't able to track him down, and I know Mom forbade Kyp to do that. I still don't know what happened between them, but there was no one else since then."

"How long ago was that?"

"Four years."

_That long? Force…_

They reached the spring. "Let's wash up," Rik offered.

It was a good idea. Miko wasn't going to desecrate Aren's immaculate kitchen with his sweaty and dirty presence, and he already learned that hot water was a sparse commodity in the house. Except for a small heater, all they had was a solar tank, and this one wasn't going to be anything more than tepid until afternoon.

"You better take off your shirt," advised Rik. "It's a lost cause anyway."

Miko smiled. "You should see yours."

Rik pulled the item in question over his head. "It isn't torn, at least. Gods, I love methasilk!"

The young Jedi observed a vast collection of bruises in various stages of forming or fading on the boy's body and winced. "Don't tell me, you have a thing for pain too!"

The teenager actually laughed. "I have enough kinks already to acquire this one as well. No. It's just… No pain, no gain," he singed quietly.

"What?"

"It's from one of Kyp's songs, although he doesn't want to release it. 'Weak will fall and strong remain: no pain, no gain'," he cited in a forceful, clipper manner.

"It isn't like that!" protested the young Jedi. "You don't have to pay for everything you gain in pain! That's just… perverted!"

"So speaks a boy from the nice, cultured Chandrila," Rik said mockingly. "You may not believe in it, if you want. Makes life easier. In the short run." He rummaged in nearby bushes and came out with a basket, which was promptly filled with the frigid water from the spring. "I don't want to argue with you about that. That's the problem with you guys from too civilized societies – you forgot some basic truths about life. Stand still!"

Miko complied even before his brain had an opportunity to rebel against taking commands in this tone from a boy seven years his younger. In the next moment he yelped when the whole content of the basket was thrown in his face, soaking him from head to toe.

"Now your back," Rik ordered. After repeating the procedure, he handed the basket to Miko. "Your turn." The young man was more than happy to oblige.

_I really need to work on my observation skills,_ thought Miko bitterly when the significance of Rik choosing this particular shirt for a morning workout finally penetrated his brain. They were walking to the house by then, and the item in question was thrown negligently over Rik's shoulder. Methasilk was a highly durable fabric, slippery to the point of not staying in one's grasp – and definitely too sturdy to wear for a simple run. Or even for a nice friendly spar, come to think about it. He stopped abruptly, causing Rik to do the same.

"You planned that! You planned that all along!" Not a spur of the moment, not a fit of temper, oh no; Rik was going to goad him into all-out fighting from the very beginning, probably even before that. "Why? Why the kriff couldn't you just _talk_ to me?"

"Like Kyp did?" Rik asked humorlessly. "Fat chance I had had of you listening to me. You're already too late, you fool!"

When Miko managed to pick up his jaw from where it had fallen, he turned on the balls of his feet and went to the house. No way in nine Corellian hells was he going to endure this kind of treatment from anybody, no matter the consequences.

"Reglia!" Miko didn't turn back. He heard the noise of running feet and, predictably enough, a hand clasped his shoulder and turned him around. "Listen, I…"

"Get your hands off me," Miko hissed angrily. "Or you _will _have to beat me unconscious."

"Gonadh, Miko, let me finish! I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know you're not a fool. A bit naïve, perhaps…"

"Naïve, my ass!" Miko shouted at him. "What do you think gives you the right…"

"I just don't want anyone to die, you idiot! Not even you and definitely not Kyp!" Rik yelled back. "I don't want any deaths around me! It's enough that I have to… Oh, flarg," he said weakly. "Forget that. Now I have to apologize all over again, do I?"

Miko suddenly remembered what his teacher told him about the relationship this boy had with death. He looked at Rik's contrite face. "Apology accepted," he said gruffly.

Rik averted his eyes. "I do like you," he said hoarsely. "I thought we might become friends. I don't have any, not really. Do you know how hard is it for me to find anyone even remotely my age with whom I can talk freely and who is not interested in my money, or my heritage, or what is in my pants? But you can't be my friend if you're dead. And I know Kyp is very hard to kill… but 'hard' doesn't mean 'impossible'. Being forced to protect a weaker partner in a fight just might do the trick."

"Believe me or not," Miko said sarcastically. "I have no intentions of getting myself killed. You've made your point already, don't overdo it." He relaxed and made a deep breath. "I don't know if we can be friends. Our personalities might be too opposite for that. But I'd like to try." He extended his hand, and Rik grabbed it in a grip so strong it was almost painful. "But stop pushing me. I'm not a fool, but I like to take my time thinking about things."

"All right," Rik answered with relief. "As long as you don't take _too _much time about it."

"Let's go home," suggested Miko. "I'm ready to eat a rancor by now."

"Yeah, sounds good."

"What, eating a rancor?"

"That too."

They walked in a friendly silence for a couple of minutes. "Rik," Miko asked suddenly. "Why did you say it's already too late for me?"

It took a much longer time for the boy to answer than Miko thought the question warranted. "Well, probably not too late," the boy said after all, without looking at him. "But almost. You're too old for a beginner. Your time for developing certain reflexes is fading quickly. It takes time and a lot of practice, and you're already short of the former and unwilling to get enough of the latter."

"I'm not a beginner. The fact that you can beat me doesn't make me one."

"When did you start to train in anything resembling martial arts?"

"At sixteen. Five years ago."

"Like I said," sighed Rik. "A zygote."

"Kyp begun at the same age," Miko said mildly.

Rik stopped in surprise. "Who the kriff told you that? Because he couldn't tell you such a thing!"

Miko looked at him in confusion. "I just assumed… he was on Kessel before he got to the Academy, so…"

"Oh, yes," snorted Rik. "And you think he survived on Kessel by his pretty eyes and charming wit alone? Miko, Kyp knew everything there was to know about prison fighting – and I'm talking a real deal here, a foul, dirty, no holds barred, kill or be killed fight – by the time he was my age. Not to mention the stuff that grandfather taught him, which was passing from parents to children in our family for generations. Kyp didn't begin at sixteen, he began at nine. And worked like a man possessed once he understood that those skills and a lightsaber might not be enough to save his hide. Took him some time, though."

Now that was a news flash. Miko didn't know that. Again, dammit.

"Rik," he asked, almost afraid of the answer. "When did _you_ begin?"

The boy chuckled. "Oh, I think I have quite an advantage in this department. Miko, when I'd had five years of training I was about eight years old."

"_What!"_

**Rann Na Móna, 12 ABY.**

"Do you want to take this with us?"

Aren pried Rik's little fingers away from a crystalline figure of a ballet dancer. "This is not a toy, Rikki." She rummaged through the content of a big wooden box. "Here, you can play with this instead," she said, giving her son an opalescent plastic ball with a holographic image of a small castle inside. "What did you say, brother?"

"I asked you if you want to pack this to take with us to Ariana," Kyp repeated patiently. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the house garret and leafing through an old, dusty album with family holographs. Some of them were even made on sturdy plastic instead of flimsy and appeared to be centuries old.

"No. You saw the apartment. The last thing we need is to clutter it with family relics."

"Why is this thing here, by the way? I would have thought it's supposed to be kept in a safehold."

"Given my recent predicament, I thought it'd be safer here."

Kyp looked around again, taking in disorderly stacks of dusty boxes, piles of old broken furniture and a multitude of odd artifacts, haphazardly thrown here and there, and snickered. "Makes sense. Short of setting the house on fire…"

"Exactly. But I think I overdid it just a bit. I can't find… Rik!"

It was too late. The loud crash of a heavy box falling on a hardwood floor was immediately followed by a scared child's wailing. Aren tried to soothe her son, but the boy wiggled himself out of her embrace and, still crying, hit the fallen box with his foot. "Bad bo'. Kaka!"

"The box isn't bad," Kyp told him as seriously as he could manage. "It was sitting on its place. It's you who made it fall, Rikki."

The boy pouted at him and gave the abused thing one last shove, accompanied by another sob, and then turned around and begun climbing in an old plush chair.

Aren suddenly bend forward and picked something from the floor. "Guess what? This is the box I was looking for. Here are the data rods."

"Told you," Kyp drawled without lifting his eyes from the album.

"That's creepy." Aren sighed. "How am I supposed to deal with a Force-gifted child? I don't know a thing about your Force."

"The Force isn't mine," Kyp answered with the tone of a tutor, but after catching his sister's mocking glare, amended quickly. "I don't know, just like you'd deal with any other child? Worked for me, anyway, and I have greater aptitude than Rik ever will." With that he closed the dusty tome, untangled his legs, and stood on his knees. He didn't bother to stand up to pass the two meters that separated him from the chair where Rik was intently scraping off the last shreds of the chair's formerly posh upholstery. "Thanks for helping, Rikki," he said, tickling the boy's bare foot. "But next time just call us, okay?"

The boy sniffed and nodded reluctantly. "Car'ful?"

"Yes, be careful, please. If you hurt yourself, you can't play. This isn't fun, believe me." The child nodded again and suddenly leaned forward to plant a sloppy and very loud kiss on Kyp's cheek. "Unke!"

"That's right, Rik, uncle." He ruffled the boy's silky hair. "Love you too."

"Amazing," Aren said softly.

Kyp rolled his eyes. "Don't get jealous. Children love me, hell if I know why."

His sister looked at him with exasperation. "Sometimes you can be exceptionally dense."

He looked at her warily. "Now why?"

She chuckled. "Baby, you have an incredible natural charisma. It's not something that can be imitated or learnt how to do or not to do. It will always draw people to you, instinctively. It's just more noticeable with children because they are still living by their instincts. It's adults who you'll have problems with. People tend to be distrustful of someone they are drawn to but can't explain why."

He snorted. "People don't trust me anyway, so what else is new?"

"Can you just snap out of this 'poor me' attitude?"

He rose so quickly that she took a step back involuntary. "It's not an attitude. It's a mere fact," he said coldly. "You think differently, fine. Thanks. Good for me. But it doesn't change the fact that for most people in the Galaxy I'm a _mallachaidh. _I can't disregard reality. What do you want from me, to forget it? Pretend that I never saw my brother die because of my choice?"

She caught his hand and tugged him to her quickly for a hug. "I wish I could make you forget it," she whispered in his ear. "You don't deserve any of it. But calm down, I don't want Rik to hear this."

"Sorry," he whispered back. They stayed like that for a moment, and then Kyp freed himself. "Did you find everything you wanted?" he asked with a normal voice.

"One more thing." Aren reached behind the most impressive stack of boxes and pulled out an old and faded kitara case. She wiped the dirt and dust from it with a piece of fabric and held it out to Kyp. "That's yours. Come on, open it."

He complied. The decrepit box opened with a weak squeak and he froze in disbelief.

"Is that…"

"Father's kitara, yes."

He ran his fingers along the beautiful mahogany deck with intertwined silver letters. "Sister, thank you, but…"

"Don't. It's yours. Look, even the initials suit you. Father knew what he was doing, _Rodi._"

"But Rik…"

"_You_ are Rurik Segan's son, not Rik. If you want to leave it to Rik in the future, it's up to you."

"Aren, I can't play!" he snapped in irritation. "I might never be able to play again! What's the use in me having it?"

She stroked his fingers. "You will. I know you will."

He snatched his hand back. "It's been a year, and all I managed is to take my lightsaber again – and even that is painful." He closed the lid. "No. I'll take it when I'm sure I can do it justice. If I ever will. Until then…" he snapped the locks in place and put it back behind the unkempt boxes.

"You need an instrument if you want to work on it."

"Then I'll find another one. Come on, or do you want to sit here forever? We still have a lot to do."

A couple of hours later they were sitting in the kitchen digging tiredly at the cold leftovers of dinner. Preparing the house to a prolonged period of inhabitance proved to be a chore. Packing, wrapping, and covering, when done over seven rooms plus a studio and a kitchen, exhausted both of them more than any workout, and the presence of a two-year-old hyperactive and excited child didn't help any. Fortunately, after the incident with the box, Rik didn't try to 'help' with anything anymore, and limited himself to jumping on already made and covered with plastic sheets beds (minus three of the aforementioned sheets) and diving into the neatly folded stacks of clothes (minus some ripped and shredded nerves of his mother). The only bribe he agreed to accept was the promise of his 'Unke' singing him a lullaby. To which Kyp wholeheartedly agreed, glad to have an excuse to skip some packing and covering. It wasn't until he had put the boy in his bed and was sitting there looking in the expectant black eyes when it dawned on him that he didn't know any lullabies. The ones his mother sung to him in his childhood were long since obliterated from his memory, leaving only a line or two at the most.

He ended up singing some Seighne folk songs and Corellian ballads to his nephew, glad that neither the boy nor, most importantly, his mother, were able to understand the lyrics of the last lot. Some of them were quite lascivious. He had to improve his repertoire – somehow he doubted Rik would lose the taste for his singing. Not that he was going to object – he actually enjoyed having such an appreciative and undemanding audience.

"We should buy a baby bed," Aren said, startling him out of his meditation over the cold roasted meat. "The apartment is too small to put a third full-sized bed in it."

Kyp shrugged. "Why bother? He can sleep with me. It's just for two months, anyway."

The confused expression that came briefly on her face was quickly replaced with a slightly sad one. "I tend to forget that it's just a temporary arrangement."

"I'll be back. Next summer, if not sooner. It'll be easier now when I have money."

"Are you going to tell me where you found this money?"

He smiled. "Probably not. It's safer this way. And speaking of safety – we have to think of something."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want people to see me with you." He raised a hand, forestalling her objections. "Really, Aren. It takes only one person to put together that Kyp Durron and Rodion Segan have the same face and we'll be farkled, big time. I can't divert everybody's attention for two months in a row – it's exhausting."

Aren bit her lip. "So what do you think we should do?"

Kyp shrugged. "I have some stuff with me, courtesy of some… friends. Hair dyes, color lenses, even some latoprene flesh. Not that I want to use it. It itches like Hutt's slime."

A slow, wide grin spread through his sister's face. "Oh my. Now that should be fun. A complete makeover, and you're such a tempting model!"

He looked at her warily. "Now I'm scared. Just don't try to make a blonde out of me – it won't work."

"You never know until you try."

"Already did. On computer only, thankfully. Believe me, it would attract as much attention as a black Wampa. And I really look like an escapee from one of the fine establishments of Jrade Plaza with it." He colored slightly under her puzzled look. "Never mind."

Aren prudently changed the subject. "You know, it should work even without any synth flesh. You have a very… gratifying face for disguises. Handsome, but nothing out of standards." She smirked at his somewhat displeased expression.

The next morning, applying the brown dye to his hair to the accompaniment of Rik's shrill laugh, she told him: "I have been doing some thinking too."

"About what?" Kyp tried to turn and look at her, and she had to pull on his hair sternly to return his head in proper position. Rik squealed in delight, pointing his tiny finger at his uncle's face. "Beats me if I know why he finds all this so entertaining," Kyp murmured under his nose. He had a suspicion, though, that it had something to do with the brown gunk that was now covering his eyebrows.

"He thinks it's a game. You should be grateful – this way he'll take the change for granted. In a couple of days he won't even remember what your natural coloring is."

"Good. You remember not to…"

"…call you by name in his presence. I remember. I remembered quite well after the first two times you've told me that. And you interrupted me."

"Sorry."

"I was thinking about something one of my teachers told me long ago. She was quite legendary in her time. I saw the holos – she looked like a work of art. Always in a full makeup, her hair always done, the clothes always bright and fashionable. But by the time she was teaching us, thirty years later, she never had even a touch of cosmetics on her face, had a short haircut and never wore anything that an average Uni student couldn't wear to a lecture. I asked her why she went to such length before, since it was obvious that she hated all this glamour with a passion. She said: 'I just liked my freedom, honey'. I didn't understand her then."

"And now you do?"

"Yes. Actually, I figured it out as soon as I had an ambiguous fortune to become a celebrity almost overnight. But I was stubborn, and I didn't like to waste my time on such trivialities, and I think that deep down I enjoyed the attention. Being considered beautiful was still new to me then."

"So what are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that you're right. I should wear a disguise too. Sort of. If not for the sake of safety, then just so that I could go to a tapcaf and have a cup of tea without being stared at." She finished smearing the dye on his hair and took a comb, running it through the wet mass to get out the excesses. "I was gone for more than three years; I think most of my fans don't have a clear idea what I look like anymore. If I start to wear cosmetics every time I go outside soon enough even the die-hards who still do will forget my real face. Then we'll have to deal only with a pretty narrow group of people who I can't hide from anyway, but it's easier than trying to divert attention of half of Ariana, is it not?"

"Of course."

"I'll do it then." She sniggered. "I have just the style in mind. Always wanted to try myself as a femme fatale." She finished combing the disgusting sticky mess his hair become and said: "Almost done. Give me the package. I forgot how long you're supposed to keep it on."

"Ten minutes."

"Then you have three more to do."

"I'm soooo not enjoying this," he grumbled, looking at still giggling Rik. "Feels like a pinnacle in humiliation."

"Your idea, remember."

"Yeah, I'm well aware of the fact."

"Alright, you can wash it off now. But don't look in the mirror just yet. I want you to see the full effect first."

After he did as he was told she combed his hair again, this time with a heated comb. "I see that the dye has an uncurling effect too. Good. You should consider buying one of these combs, by the way."

"You're kidding!"

"Not in the slightest. If you comb your hair with it while it's still wet, it'll stay straight instead of your natural ringlets. And if you want to return to your usual look, all you have to do is just get it wet again. I thought that was your goal, was it not?"

"Yes, good idea," he admitted grudgingly. "I just feel weird enough with all this – dyes, lenses - without buying any additional… implements. Next thing you suggest would probably be painting my face!"

Aren stopped combing and tugged his head back by the hair, so his face was up. "And what exactly would be wrong with that?"

She observed a parade of emotions on her brother's face: surprise, thoughtfulness, confusion, then a quick change to the mild version of that blank expression she was already familiar with. "Nothing, I suppose," he said after all. "Just doesn't feel like _me._"

_Secrets, brother? _She had a pretty good idea of what was going through Kyp's head. That, at least, was something she could deal with. She made some more strokes with the comb and turned it off. "Done. Now go and take a look."

Kyp couldn't contain a little shiver of anticipation. It took him a good couple of weeks after Kessel to get used to his own reflection in a mirror; the last time he had seen his face before that was on Deyer, the day before the life as he knew it had ended cruelly. Seeing himself not as a child but as a youth had been astonishing. The second shock came some months later, in the hospital, when narcotics gave him enough respite to care what he looked like. Han was going to bring the twins with him that day and he wanted to make sure he was presentable.

What he saw in the mirror then made him cry for an hour and give the nurse in charge an order not to allow them into his room. He fell asleep still crying. When he woke, Jaina was sitting on his bed playing with his hair and murmuring the children song about the bantha-dad, bantha-mom and little bantha, who grew tired of staying in a holo-zoo and took a ride on a holo-boat to a holo-sea. Upon seeing him awake she planted a wet and sticky kiss on his nose and cheerfully asked if it made him feel better.

He was so relieved she wasn't disgusted by what she saw that he forgot to ask Han, who was smirking at him from his usual armchair with Jacen asleep on his lap, how he had managed to talk the notoriously strict staff of Manarai Medcenter into admitting them against his direct orders. Just one more of those Solo miracles, he supposed.

Now, though, was a different story. He wasn't afraid that his face would make anybody to recoil in revulsion anymore; in fact, as he discovered during the time he spent around the spaceport on Coruscant trying to hitch a ride to Garos IV, now he has had quite an opposite problem. However, he was still unsure enough of his appearance that the idea of changing it felt weird.

He opened his eyes slowly and studied his reflection in the mirror. It wasn't bad, just… different. His black curls and startling green of his eyes in contrast with his normally pale skin usually sharpened his features to the point of a stamped coin definition. Now the straight nut-brown, sleekly flowing hair and blue eyes on a slightly tanned face made it look softer, gentler, definitely moving him on appearance scale from 'handsome' to 'pretty'. He didn't like this idea at all. But Aren had been right – he looked different, without a doubt. Very different.

He saw her appearing behind his back in the mirror. "So, how do you like it?"

"If I was supposed to give out all kinds of wrong messages," he said sullenly, "this definitely helped a lot."

Aren laughed, gathered his hair in her hands and began to tie it up with one of her hair ties. "I hate to break this to you, baby," she said gently, "but if I understand you correctly, you give out these messages all the time. I don't think that anything short of radical plastic surgery can help you in this respect. Probably not even that; people will be drawn to you nevertheless. Sexual attraction is only a part of this charisma package, and I'm afraid you're stuck with it. What I don't understand is why it upsets you so much. You can always say 'no'."

Kyp shrugged. She was right, he knew that – on an intellectual level. "I guess it's just a novelty of having this option," he answered.

"Which option?"

"To say 'no'."

"Oh Mother," she sighed. "Kessel prison strikes again. Baby, you better start forgetting most of what you lived by there. It's not safe in a normal society."

"I know that," he said with irritation. "I'm trying! It's not easy, you know?"

"I can imagine," she answered reassuringly. "But you don't seem to have a problem with me touching you."

He shrugged one shoulder briefly. "It's different. You're safe, like father had been. Like Han and Luke. It's easier with women, in any case. It's men I have problem with. On Coruscant, I'd spent some time in a spaceport, trying to hitch a ride here. Got whistled at on a regular basis." He blew out a breath. "I'm just glad that nobody tried to pick me up more insistently. I don't know if I would have been able to suppress my natural reaction."

"What, a knee to the groin?"

"A bit more extreme than that."

"Gods, isn't that enough!"

"Not always. Don't look at me like that. Father couldn't protect me around the clock, so he made sure that if such a moment came, I wouldn't be hindered by indecision – what to do, how to do it. And some of those folks weren't sane. Mental illness does wonders with pain threshold."

"Oh boy," she sighed. "Someone will approach you sooner or later, it's inevitable. We have to do something about this."

"I think I can control it, at least if I have some forewarning. No, I know I can. I have to. It's really bad only when someone tries to touch me unexpectedly. And I'm hard to be caught unawares easily these days." He raised his head all of a sudden. "You know, it might even be for the better. At least here I'm considered an adult, and people who will try to hit on me are not likely to be some perverts."

"Hmmm, I hadn't thought of this. I suppose you're right, but, little brother, you're forgetting one important thing. What if that's a woman making a move at you?"

The expression on his face would have been comical, if it hadn't been caused by real distress; however, it was masked quickly. "There is no danger, then," he answered. "I'm not going to react to a woman this way."

"Don't try to misunderstand me on purpose," Aren said gently. "You know what I mean."

He groaned. "I can't believe I'm having this talk, and with you of all people!"

"Why not? I'm your sister, I'm entitled."

"I suppose you are," he admitted reluctantly. "I don't have a clue, actually. I… Aren, I know I'm screwed up, and not in a good sense of the word. In my head I know that sex isn't always about pain, and filth, and domination. But the things I saw on Kessel… they are going to stay with me. I hope they will fade somewhat over time, but right now… I don't want anything, with anybody. I can't allow..." He stopped suddenly, as if reining the words back from the tip of his tongue. "And even if I wanted to – I don't know how to say 'yes'. I don't know how to say 'no' too, for that matter." Dark, uneasy blush flamed his cheeks, and he covered his face with his palms. "I know all the wrong things, but I don't know anything about how to do it right!"

"Oh boy," she repeated. "Don't fret so, it's going to be all right, you'll see." She drew him to her by the bony shoulders and hugged him tightly. "Just give yourself time. It's going to be alright." He relaxed into her embrace almost immediately. _Does he know how eager, how hungry for a loving touch he is? _she wondered. _No, of course not. So sad, a lovable creature who's unwilling to allow himself to be loved. _"We'll think of something," she said aloud. "I can teach you what to answer, how to answer – that's a beginning, at least."

Whatever answer Kyp wanted to give was drowned in a loud crack and Rik's subsequent crying. "Mother, what is it now?" Aren asked exasperatedly taking her arms off Kyp's shoulders. "You know, he never was that hyper and adventurous before – must be your bad influence!"

"I'm not hyper!" Kyp answered indignantly. "I just like to be busy."

"Yes, brother. Of course, brother. Whatever you say, brother."

**Master Kasik Vang's School of martial arts, Ariana, 12 ABY, a week later.**

"Listen, young man, you have an audacity to come here without having an appointment, without a recommendation letter, without _anything_? Who the klif you think you are?"

Master Kasik Vang sighed slightly. Orie, his apprentice, aide and, temporarily, receptionist, always had a superiority complex. His, Kasik Vang's, superiority, and the fact that in the recent year and a half, his school had become the most high-priced establishment in this area on Garos IV didn't do anything but reinforce this attitude. He had to put a stop to it. Most of his clientele were, indeed, admitted via recommendation letters, but there was always an off-beat chance that an important client would just come by and drop in unannounced.

The short, slight man stood up and peered through the carefully masked peephole to see who had managed to elicit such an outraged response from his aide. As soon as he saw who it was, he was unable to suppress a smile. It seemed that Orie's diatribe was justified to some extent.

The visitor was a young man... no, a teenager. He was standing in such a way that only half of his face was visible to the Master, but it was obvious that the youngster was no more than eighteen years old. He was dressed less than casually: the blue leggings had quite a number of ragged tears on them, and the slightly tattered and overlong sleeves of his matching blue tunic were kept from falling apart only by a length of a rope wrapped crisscrossed around each one.

Furthermore, he was not alone. Perched on his back in a battered frame carrier, was a little boy, around two years old, who surveyed the exchange with the sort of a fascinated horror on his face that suggested that it could turn into a crying fit any second now.

And the last thing they needed in their sparsely elegant reception room was a crying baby. Sighing, Master Vang admitted that he could understand where some of Orie's irritation came from.

In this moment, the offender turned slightly and flipped his long hair out of his face. "I had no intentions of offending or disrespecting you or your Master," he said with a calm indignation. "There were no warnings or conditions posted at your door." To Master Vang's surprise, the youngster's speaking manners were incongruently cultured. Aristocratic even, with a lilting quality that separated the true Garosians from the people who just recently arrived on the planet. Kasik Vang stilled beside the peephole. Could this boy, dressed only slightly better than a Ryn down on his luck, be a chance he was awaiting for more than two years?

"However," continued the visitor, straightening up, "I'm offering my apologies if I did. Mar sin leibh." With this he turned around and headed to the door.

The kajete Master was literally running out even before the teenager managed to make the first step. Even if the parting phrase the boy uttered didn't clue him in, there were a couple of other things he noticed in the last handful of seconds that made him wish Orie had never opened his mouth at this young man: a couple of thin braids plaited into sleek brown hair and, most importantly, the outline of an arrowhead under the sheer material of the blue tunic, which became clearly visible as soon as the boy turned.

The arrowhead. The Third Clan.

When Kasik Vang opened his school on Garos IV, he wasn't interested in making a profit. Or, rather, it wasn't his only goal. As many of his brethren, he was always interested in finding and learning new skills and new styles, new outlooks and new philosophies of the art of combat. Learning was his passion; making money was just a way to indulge it. Five years ago, he happened to find a document that apparently had made its way out of one of the Imperial Intelligence agencies during the mayhem that followed the battle on Endor. It was detailed research on the Old Clans of Garos IV.

Politics were never the focus of Master Vang's interest. However, the document contained something that _was _extremely interesting: a superficial description of fighting styles that the Old Clans had developed during their four-millennia long estrangement from the rest of the Galaxy.

The report was superficial not because the writer, whoever he was, didn't pay attention. In fact, for an Imperial Intel report, it was quite full of the irritated ramblings on difficulties of information gathering on such a close-knit and paranoid group as were the Old Clans.

Kasik Vang, being a descendant of an aristocratic family himself, could understand this attitude. Nevertheless, his hopes of succeeding where Imperial agents failed, proved to be vain. The Old Claners were obviously of the opinion that outworlders had nothing of any worth to teach them in this department, and socially speaking, their tight inner circle also proved to be virtually impenetrable. Apparently, after all the perturbations of the last century, they ceased to trust anyone but their own. During the more than three years since he had opened his school, no person out of any old Garosian families had even crossed his threshold. All his students so far were people who came to Garos IV, attracted by the economic uprising, in the hope of making big money.

Nouveau riches. They paid handsomely, but none of them was worthy of any real interest. So he gave them whatever they wanted, taught them whatever they were able to absorb, and waited for the time when the natives would decide he had lived there long enough to be considered trustworthy.

This boy, if he were indeed who he seemed to be, was a godsend. The Third Clan was famous even among the other Clans for the fierce and skilled fighters they bred generation after generation. Each of the Seven Clans had a kind of a loose specialization that had more to do with the traditions and inherited predispositions than with any kind of obligation. However, everyone who was at least slightly familiar with the subject could have noticed that the Second Clan, for example, had a propensity for management and politics, the Fourth Clan produced easily half of Fame Wall of the medical faculty of the University of Garos IV and the Third...

The Third Clan, mostly called Segans by the prevailing family name, were warriors and artists. Rarely one or the other; whatever genes they had that were responsible for such a combination of abilities, they seemed to run hand-in-hand. There were pitifully few of them left; the inbreeding practices, the civil war, and the Empire seemed to have put them on the brink of extinction. As far as Kasik Vang knew, there were less than a dozen left alive. And this boy was one of them.

"Wait," he called after the youngster. "Please come back."

The teenager stopped, turned, and looked at him warily. The little boy on his back also looked at a short Master with the curiously similar expression of wariness in his black eyes, tingled with no small amount of interest.

The older man smiled at them both as reassuringly as he knew how. "I apologize for my aide's rudeness. You're quite right, it was indeed uncalled for." He bowed slightly. "I'm Master Kasik Vang."

Still guarded and cautious, the young man hesitated. "Rodion Segan," he said after mirroring the bow.

_Segan! _If the Master didn't think it would be a grossly inappropriate thing to do, he would have indulged in a little victory dance. _At last!_ Now he had to tread carefully. Very carefully.

"So what brought you to my school, Rodion Segan?" he asked gently.

The youngster relaxed, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and adjusted the carrier. Even this small movement revealed quite a lot to a trained eye: the strength of the boy's muscles, the fluidity of the motion, and his ability to hold himself perfectly balanced with an additional weight on his back.

"Actually," he answered quietly, "I just was looking for some place to train. I live nearby. All other gyms and schools in this area were so posh that I didn't think they'd so much as allow me to sweep their floors. Yours was the only one that didn't look like it has platinite loos."

Kasik Vang heard a quiet snort behind his back. Orie obviously was unable to keep his opinion about anyone who wasn't able to recognize that the aristocratic austerity of their school was much more expensive than the tawdry opulence their competitors displayed to himself. The Master barely suppressed his sigh. He should have sent Orie to one of the back rooms. His aide and this boy obviously didn't acquire any sympathy toward each other. He already had opened his mouth to issue an orderwhen his tacit opinion was voiced by a quite unexpected person.

"Dummy, you" said the black-eyed toddler authoritatively.

To his dismay, the Master realized that this squeezing, tingling feeling in his chest was laughter. In a second it became impossible to contain, and he had to let it emerge, first as a giggle, then as a full-throated, shaking laugh. After a short while he had been able to wheeze his way out of it, but a look at Orie's outraged face set him back again.

"Gods," he gasped after all. "I didn't laugh like that in years!"

"Sorry about that," the Segan boy said to Orie with a blatantly insincere and polite smile.

"Do you need me, Master?" the aide asked stiffly, taking the hint eventually.

"No, Orie, thank you," he answered politely. "You can go to your room."

"He must be an excellent administrative assistant," the teen said with a wicked smile after the door closed behind Orie's back.

"How do you know?"

"Well, since his people skills and his sense of humor are worth about three credits put together, I suppose there should be some other reason why you're keeping him around."

The boy on his back, obviously very pleased with the reaction his interference produced, started to jump up and down in the carrier, making his bearer wince.

"Let's go to the training room," suggested the older man. "You can let him run around a bit there." Thankfully, it was the middle of a working day, and no patrons were present.

"Thanks," the teenager said on the way there, obviously relieved. "He's getting fidgety when I'm not letting him out every half an hour or so."

"You're a little young to be a father," Master Vang observed neutrally. "Even on this planet."

"He's not my son, he's my nephew," explained the youngster.

"Your nephew?"

"Yes, my sister's son." He swung the carrier from his shoulders and extracted the boy out of it. The toddler had begun to move his legs even before his uncle set him on the floor, and as soon as he did, the kid ran to the training equipment in the corner with single-mindedness typical for his age. The Master sighed and curbed his tongue. After all, it was highly unlikely that such a small child would be able to do any real damage to his equipment.

"All right," he turned to the teenager. "Let's see what you can do."

**Tihaz Theater, Ariana, 1.5 hours later.**

The small, isolated apartment under the domed roof of the big theater was quiet and dimly lit at this time of the day. The only wall window was tinted to dark grey, allowing just a bare minimum of the purple colored rays of the settling sun to filter inside. The dimness was remedied somewhat by a brisk slab of light falling down from a narrow sky window in the curved ceiling. The light reached a couple of meters short of the entrance and Aren took care not to step into it. Semi-darkness suited her just fine; this way she wouldn't have to worry about her companion reading too much in her face.

"Mikal, all I ask is that you meet him. Don't make a decision until you do. He is not what people think. He..."

The tall, wide-shouldered, brown-haired man Aren was talking to smiled at her. "Sit. You're giving me vertigo." When she obeyed, he covered her hand, which was nervously wandering over the table, with his palm. "Relax, Reni," he told her easily. "I'm not getting modern-minded on you, not in this case, certainly. The only thing he did that was decidedly questionable was attacking his teacher. That doesn't exactly scream of loyalty." He raised his other hand to prevent the objection which was already on Aren's lips. "I'm willing to overlook that, though, out of respect for your father and honoring his last wish. Also..." His even-featured, handsome face twisted slightly, responding to some unpleasant memory. "I might be relatively young, but I remember the war and I know what constant fear and anger can do to someone's mind and soul."

Aren nodded, trying to fight back tears. She hadn't really expected Mikal to raise any serious arguments over Kyp's adoption into the clan – there were too few of them left, and a promising young male with a genotype free of nasty traits accumulated over millennia of inbreeding could be considered as a gift from the Great Mother – but, apparently, her heart wasn't quite in sync with her head on the issue. Only now, hearing her uncle saying the words she coveted, Aren realized how much she was afraid of his 'no'.

"And, let's not forget, we still have Rann Na Móna in our possession, thanks to him," the older man continued. "Why didn't you tell me things had got that bad, girl? Why all those lies about wanting to be alone? If I knew it wasn't just a problem with the field..."

Aren straightened defiantly in response to a note of accusation in Mikal's voice. "And what do you think you would have done? Banked on the cliffs with all your family and a blaster rifle for the time being? I presume you wouldn't have wanted to leave them unprotected in your house?"

"I would have thought of something. I would have called for the help of the rest of the clan..."

"Exactly." Aren said tiredly. "And then we would have had The Shooting at Currahen Crossroad, part two, revamped. You and Raila's boys are a little too trigger-happy for my liking, not to mention your sister. At least my way we all are still alive."

"You just were too damn proud to ask," her uncle answered harshly. "And that was unseemly, considering that it wasn't your life only on stake in this conflict. You put the interests of the whole clan at risk by your behavior. You _should _have told me, explained your reasons and let me decide. Gods know, I'm not exactly unreasonable!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, averting her eyes.

He rolled his eyes. "You're sorry, but you still think it was the right thing to do. Don't answer. I know you way too well to believe otherwise. But remember." He reached across the small table and tapped at the middle of her chest with the knuckles of his fingers. Firmly. "You're not alone."

"No," she answered, still very quietly. "Not anymore." Suddenly it dawned on her how her words might be taken by Mikal, and she hurried up with the explanations. "Uncle, I didn't mean it this way. I love you, all of you. But it's different with Kyp. He's closer to my heart, even if I've known him for such a short time. _Mo fein,_" she added, trying to explain it in the old language of their people. _"Mo cridhe._ I need him, Mikal, I need him badly, especially after this disaster with Allt."

"It can't be the same," the man said gently.

"No, it isn't the same. It's more." She rubbed her forehead with a sigh. "I can't think about what all this means now, much less explain. I'm too tired."

"Reni," her uncle said almost hesitantly. "I hope you understand that your marriage wasn't your mistake alone. I should have seen how desperate you were, but I was too wrapped in my own family, my own affairs..."

"Don't say that. You had the right to be happy, to build a family. You had a lot of problems too. And I wasn't in your ward anymore."

"By letter, probably." He smiled. "But since when does it matter for us?"

Aren smiled too, almost against her will. "Since never. I missed you. I missed you all like a wall at my back. Thank you, thank you so much for not objecting. This is my second chance at life and I'm not going to mess it up this time!"

"Good luck," Mikal responded, smiling widely. "Want to drink something to that?"

"Tea only, I'm afraid. I have another rehearsal in less than two hours."

The man's eyebrows crooked in puzzlement. "You'd just left one when I got here." He looked at a chrono on the opposite wall. "Less than three hours ago."

"I need at least five completely new solo dances for this program," she explained with a hint of annoyance. "You don't think I can rely on my old repertoire alone? Every cantina dancer on this planet can imitate it by now."

"You think too much of cantina dancers. All right. Where is your problem child then? I'd like to meet him today, and, preferably, in your presence."

"I have no idea," Aren admitted reluctantly. "I didn't tell him you were supposed to come. He should have been here at least half an hour ago, but I swear, this boy has no idea of time measurement. Not exactly surprising, but sometimes I want to strangle him when he shows up an hour late with cheerful 'sorry, sis' and this fripping smile. He says I'm being silly worrying about him. After everything he went through he still thinks he's invincible."

Mikal laughed outright. "Sounds familiar. Do you remember what you used to tell me, coming home after midnight? In a city chock full of Imperial soldiers no less."

Aren made a face. "Don't remind me."

Her uncle leaned back into his armchair with a satisfied smile. "Get used to it. In ten years or so you'll have to go through all this crap again with Rik junior. Where is he, by the way? I'd like to see him too, I suppose he grew up a lot since I had seen him last time."

"He's with Kyp," admitted Aren. "Do you remember how Rik usually was with strangers?"

"Yes, I remember. Tal Denar told me Myrra was crying the whole night after Rik hadn't even allowed her to kiss him."

"Right. Guess what? The first thing Rik did upon seeing Kyp was throwing himself on his neck. I thought I'd have to separate them surgically."

Her companion's blue eyes grew almost round. "You're joking."

"Completely not. I don't know what I'll do when Kyp returns on Yavin IV. Rik all but goes into withdrawal each time when his 'Unke' is not in sight and Kyp doesn't try hard to discourage him. I never saw a teenager so willing to spend his time with a two-year-old."

Mikal whistled quietly. "Whoa. That's... surprising."

Aren shrugged. "I try not to think of anything past tomorrow right now. It's still plenty of time until he leaves. After all, less than a month ago I was holed up in Rann Na Móna, thinking that I have nothing to live for anymore except for my son and now, look at me, sitting here again, planning a new show... As corny as it sounds, he gave me my life back."

Her uncle looked at her strangely, but his obvious intention to say something was interrupted by the hurried, running steps outside in a hallway. The old scratched door panel slid aside and Kyp burst through the doorway, hair mussed and cheeks flaming, with laughing Rik riding on his back. "I'm sor.." he blurted out before the presence of a stranger registered in his brain.

The change was immediate and Mikal observed it with approval. The young man's face lost its easy smile in a blink of an eye. The boy shifted his balance to his back leg, falling into a defensive stance, with the right arm hovering near a sizeable belt porch, which obviously concealed some kind of weapon. The left arm rose and touched Rik's bare leg in a gesture that seemed to be both warning and soothing even to an outsider. Rik immediately grew quiet, leaning closer to Kyp's back and wrapping his little pudgy legs around his uncle's waist.

Aren, unperturbed, looked at the chrono. "Forty-seven minutes. Do I need to start taxing you for being late?"

"I'm sorry, I told you! I, um, met someone..."

Apparently reassured by his sister calm manner, the youngster relaxed and took a step forward. The light from the sky window fell on his face and Mikal sucked a breath sharply.

"What the..."

Aren looked at him, startled. "Mikal? What... Ah. Gonadh, I should have warned you. It was my idea. I thought a bit of family resemblance wouldn't hurt."

Two voices answered her in eerie unison.

"What idea?"

"What are you talking about?"

Aren rolled her eyes. "It's better to see once than to hear twice. Come here." With that she took both of them by hands, dragged them to a sizable mirror on one of the walls, and pressed her palm over the lights regulator, making both males squint for a moment.

Kyp swore loudly and then quickly smacked both of his palms over his mouth. For some reason, Aren's request not to curse in Rik's presence always surfaced in his brain only after he did the deed.

"That's something new," Aren observed sarcastically. "Which language is it now?"

"Sullustian," Kyp answered distractedly, looking in the mirror. Yes, he could understand Mikal's shock now. The color of his hair was identical to that of older man's, even the hue was the same. Similar thing could have been said for the blue eyes. Both of them possessed the human classic kind of beauty, with straight noses, high brows and cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips, even if Kyp's nose was a bit longer and his lips a bit thinner. All in all, he could easily pass for Mikal's son or younger brother. _Family resemblance, indeed! What the kriff Aren had been thinking?_

"Galactic Profanities for Beginners or How to Curse Like a Native in Ten Languages," smirked Aren. "I'm amassing quite an arsenal."

Rik tugged sharply on Kyp's hair. "Wanna pee!" he announced imperiously directly into his year.

Kyp, startled out of studying the mirror, almost jumped. He obviously was still riding on the residuals of fight or flight response. Mutely he shrugged off the carrier, extracted the boy from it and handed him to his mother. "He's hungry too," Kyp said to her. Then he turned to the older man. "I'm sorry. Like she said, it's not my natural look. We thought it would be too dangerous for them," he nodded to Aren and Rik, "if I hang around here as is."

"_You_ thought it would be dangerous. Leave me out of that, please. I still think it is overkill."

"You won't think that the first time someone tries to kidnap him to get to me!"

Aren opened her mouth, but Mikal interrupted her. "He's right," he said firmly. "And you should know that. I can understand why it is grating on you, though."

"We don't have anything to be ashamed of," Aren said fiercely. "TakingKyp into our Clan shouldn't be something we have to hide like a dirty secret!"

"No, it shouldn't," Mikal agreed calmly. "And one day we will not, I promise you. But right now it's something we have to deal with. Needs must. We're still too weak and the hysteria around him is still raging." He turned to Kyp. "I'm glad to see you're smart and prudent enough to understand that. Welcome to the Clan, nephew," he said, extending his hand for a handshake. "By the way," he continued casually after Kyp shook it. "How many languages do you know?"

Kyp stared at him mutely in surprise. He expected some pronouncement, some ritualistic exchange, but, apparently, Mikal was much more concerned about the spirit of things than the letter. Well, Kyp didn't particularly care for ceremonies either. What mattered was that Mikal accepted him; everything else was inconsequential.

"Fluently?" he answered. "Oh, three, Basic excluded. Seighne, of course. Corellian – we spoke it at home, before... well, _before_. And Sullustian. There were a lot of Sullustians on Kessel. I also know a fair bit of Twi'leki and Rodian, and a little of Huttese and Java."

"Impressive," Mikal said reverently.

Kyp waived his hand. "It's nothing, really. Han Solo knows about seventeen languages, most of them fluently. One of the few perks of having to live amongst the scum from all over the Galaxy."

Aren interrupted them. "Another fifteen minutes, and dinner will become stale."

Mikal saluted her mockingly. "Hint taken. Need a hand?"

"No. Just get your butts behind the table. Brother, do you remember that you have to leave in," she looked at the chrono, "twenty-five minutes?"

Kyp made a face. "So soon? I thought I have an hour at least!"

Aren threw Mikal an expressive glance, as if saying 'what have I told you?'.

"You have to leave?" Mikal asked with interest. "But you just got here."

"I have a lesson," answered Kyp distractedly, shoveling food in his mouth.

"A lesson?"

"Uh-huh. Vocal training. Two times a day."

"You're a singer?" Mikal chuckled, shaking his head. "Rik knew what he was doing, indeed. I'd hazard a guess and say that you inherited his workaholic attitude as well? Vocal lessons two times a day? You're on vacation, as far as I understand."

"Yes, and I have to return in seven weeks or so. I have to use my time here as much as I can."

"Let me ask you something," Mikal said seriously. "Do you really want to return on Yavin IV?"

Kyp froze with the fork halfway up to his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"It's a fairly simple question. Do you want to return or not? Answer me, please."

Kyp put the fork on the plate. Suddenly he wasn't nearly as hungry as he had been. "Yes."

"Am I mistaken, or is there a certain lack of conviction in this word?"

"Aren," Kyp said quietly after a pause. "Rik is sleepy. Can you put him down?"

The woman gave him a startled glance, then looked at her son. Indeed, the boy was rubbing his eyes, slouching in his high chair. "He hasn't slept today yet?"

"Half an hour or so."

She shook her head disapprovingly. "We're wrecking his routine. All right. Use your time." She extracted her son from the chair and heeded to the other room.

"Was he really sleepy or is it your doing?" Mikal asked with interest.

"Both. He is sleepy; we had had quite a day. I just enhanced what he was feeling a bit."

"You don't want him to hear what you have to say?"

Kyp started to play with the food on his plate, not raising his eyes. "Yes. Children remember much more that adults think they do. I remember some things my parents said from when I was even younger than Rik. I didn't understand them then, but I still remember. Did you notice that Arenavoids calling me 'Kyp' in his presence?"

"Yes, I had been wondering. How long are you going to keep that up? I don't think Rik will buy it forever."

"No, not forever, of course. Just until he's able to understand that not everything can be told to anybody. Shouldn't be long." He smiled warmly, almost dreamily. "He's a smart boy. And cautious. You can call me Rodion, or Rodi. It's the name that father gave me."

"Rodi, then. Don't think I forgot that you didn't answer me."

"It's not easy to explain."

"I bet. Let's do it a little differently, then. I'll re-word my question. Do you think that you have to return because of whatever junk they told you on your so-called trial?"

Kyp shuddered slightly. "What do you mean, 'so-called trial'?"

"As you're probably well aware of, nothing of what you did – except battling with your teacher, but let's set that aside for now – is considered a crime by our tradition." He raised a hand, forestalling whatever Kyp might have said. "Yes, I know that they operate on different set of rules. But even by their own laws your trial was completely illegitimate. Raila – my and your father's cousin – is a lawyer. I remember her reaction when your story hit the news. She was totally appalled. Do I understand correctly that you weren't even allowed to have a defender?"

"Han spoke for me."

"Han Solo? Since when is he a lawyer? All right, enough of that. Not having a defender is sufficient to render any trial, except probably a military one which you couldn't have been subjected to anyway, since you never were in military forces, unlawful, and any verdict invalid. Now answer my question, please. Do you think you have to return because of whatever stipulations they sat on you?"

"No!" Kyp blew up suddenly. "No! And I frippin' know it _does_ look like that! That they think I'm being a good little Jedi because they vapin' want me to be! I know it's not that! Even Luke knows it's not that! But they still think they have power over me..." He screwed his eyes shut, wrinkling his nose in a grimace of distaste. "I hate it," he spat out, opening his eyes, which were bright with contained, slowly boiling fury. "But no, that's not why I want to return to Yavin IV. People are people, no matter what kind of a government they are under. They need help, they need protection. As a Jedi, I can make a difference, probably even a big one. I can make sure that nothing like what happened to me will happen to any other being. That's _why_ I will return to Yavin IV. No one has any power over me that I don't accept!"

"Bravo," Aren said from behind his back quietly. "Bravo. Thank you, Mikal, for asking him that. I didn't have enough guts."

The older man shrugged. "I had to make sure no one is tricking him into doing what he doesn't want to do. It's my concern as a Chief of the Clan. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, nephew, but I had to know."

Kyp picked up the fork again and put it down quickly. His hands were trembling. "It's nothing. I... I just don't like to remember that day." He looked at Mikal with eyes that were sill unnaturally bright, but this time not with fury. "You know what's funny? I really did horrible things. But they had no right to judge me. None whatsoever. Skywalker probably had the right... but he didn't judge. Still doesn't. And now you're telling me that all this... all this... wasn't even _valid_?" He looked around blindly. "I have to leave."

Mikal rose up too. "I'll give you a ride. Don't worry, I'm not going to ask any more questions. I think I've heard enough to make a decision." He turned to Aren. "We're setting the adoption ceremony four weeks from the next weekend, if that suits you both. Raila should be back by then, so the whole Clan can be present. All right?"

"Fine with me," Kyp answered quickly. "Aren?"

"Oh, of course. I would have had it tomorrow, if it was up to me. Go on, you have to move, or he will be late again."

Down on the street, after opening the canopy of his speeder, Mikal suddenly stopped Kyp with a hand on his arm. "Be careful with Aren."

"What do you mean?" Kyp asked warily.

Mikal sighed. "She can be obsessive about things. And people. Don't get offended, please, I really like you and I think you will be good for each other. But I think she's focusing too much on you already. Don't allow her, for her own sake."

Kyp bit his lip, somewhat troubled. "I don't think I can allow or not allow her anything."

The older man sighed again. "Never mind. I know you can't. I didn't mean that to be imperative. Just... oh, well. It's probably for the best that you'll be coming and going for the time being. At least until she gets a grip on being not alone again. Just don't stay away for too long."

"I don't intend to."

**Outside of Master Kasik Vang's School of martial arts, Ariana, 12 ABY, six days later.**

Aren looked the building over and nodded in approval. It was old, but carefully and tastefully renovated, with all the reverence its architecture and artwork deserved. If the restoration had been made by the current owner, she owed him a point.

There were no people coming in or out the door. She knew there wouldn't be, having wheedled the schedule of activities from her brother over the last couple of days in bits and pieces, but she stayed in place for some time just to be sure. This talk was six days coming and she didn't want any interruptions. While she was waiting, she run the talk she had had with Kyp this eventful day when Mikal paid them a visit in her mind once again.

_It had been very late already and they both were aching all over and tired beyond any reasonable point, but Rik was refusing to settle down and, surely enough, the will of a stubborn two-year-old took precedence over that of two adults. Suddenly she remembered something he had said earlier and which she hadn't paid attention to at the time._

"_You said earlier you'd met someone today?"_

_Kyp, already half-asleep in his chair, perked. "Oh. Yes, I had. I found a place to train. No offence meant, sis, but your dance lessons don't exactly do the trick for me and I need to stay in shape."_

"_Mother," she moaned. "You really are a workaholic. Vocal and dance lessons each day and you want more? You have a funny idea of vacations."_

"_I'm getting antsy if I'm not busy," he answered defensively. "And I've had enough of lying in bed to last me the whole lifetime."_

"_All right. Have it your way. Where is this place?"_

"_Close by. It's on Balin, just two buildings from Aizen."_

"_Gods," she moaned again. "How much is it going to cost?"_

"_Nothing," Kyp answered smugly. "The owner agreed to train me for free. He said I'm a natural." He snorted. "Big news."_

_That immediately rang all the warning bells in Aren's head. "Why would he do that?"_

"_I think he just liked me. This guy is awesome, Aren! I never imagined you can do things like that with your body, and I'm not easy to impress, believe me. I want to learn this style, it's really extraordinal. It's called Kajete."_

"_Never heard of that. What's the name of the place?"_

"_Master Kasik Vang's School of martial arts."_

"_Never heard of him also, which probably mean he's an offworlder. I would have been careful in your place."_

_He looked at her in astonishment. "Don't tell me you're prejudiced."_

"_I'm not!" she said defiantly. "I'm just..."_

"_...prejudiced. There is nothing wrong with being from other planet, Aren! I wasn't born on Garos IV either, you know?"_

"_You don't understand," she said stubbornly. "Those people from other planets – they rarely understand us. They think we're just like them, because it seems to be the case on the surface, and usually they start to resent us when they encounter the differences. Or, even worse, try to change us in accordance to what they think is right."_

"_I don't think Master Vang is like that, Aren. He seems to be a very tolerant person. He even said he doesn't mind if I bring Rik with me for the lessons. Rik seems to be interested too, by the way. He tried to imitate some of what we were doing – Force, that was funny! – and he didn't gave us any trouble in almost two hours. I didn't even have to calm him, he was so mesmerized."_

_Aren liked this bit of information even less. "So you're saying that this man agreed to train you for free, _and _allowed you_ _to bring a child to these lessons to boot? Do I understand that correctly?"_

"_Well, I agreed to help him around if he needs any help. Cleaning, moving things, and some such. But, essentially, yes, that's what he did."_

"_I don't like it," she said bluntly. "He must want something from you. I don't believe in such generosity from strangers."_

_Kyp stared at her, perplexed. "What do you mean? You think he wants... _that_?"_

"_Is it such an impossible suspicion?"_

_Kyp shook his head. "Oh, no. No way. I told you, I detect this kind of attention immediately. I would have felt it if he even so much as thought something along the line. No, you're wrong, sister."_

"_All right. But he might want to use you in a different manner. Your cute butt isn't the only thing people might want from you."_

_He smiled. "That's more plausible, but I still don't think so. People who want my powers, they have a sort of a greedy aura about them. I can feel it." He made a moue. "Even Luke has it. Sometimes I think he would have never been interested in me if I haven't been so powerful. But this guy... he was just delighted, Aren. That's all I sensed from him. I think you're wrong, sis. And it's too good an opportunity to pass up."_

"_Well, if you think so..." she shrugged, relinquishing her ground. _

But she never told him she wasn't going to investigate. Unfortunately, being three years removed from social circulation didn't help with research, so she had to turn to Mikal and Luinn for information, which took some time. The results were ambiguous. On one hand, Master Kasik Vang definitely wasn't cut out from the same cloth as, say, Tarten. During the years he has spent on Garos IV, he was noted for carefully observing native traditions and paying respect to the culture, as much as it was possible for an offworlder. On the other hand, the rumors said that he tried to gain admission into the inner circle of the Old Clans on more than one occasion and that was something not to be ignored. He couldn't be interested in their money; after almost a century of civil war and Imperial rule, pretty much all of them were barely able to meet the ends. It could have been banal snobbism, which, albeit repulsive, would be harmless enough. On the other hand, the martial arts teacher's agenda could be much more complicated and that was what scared her. The lack of understanding meant the lack of control, and she liked not being in control even less than her brother did. If it was humanly possible, of course.

Deciding that she had waited enough, she quickly crossed the street and entered the door, stepping into the cool, exotically smelling atmosphere of the school. "I want to talk with your Master," she said to the young man behind the reception desk with the tone that didn't imply a possibility of disobedience.

Kasik Vang couldn't believe his eyes. The woman that was standing in his reception room was just about the last person he expected to see there, save for the Governor himself. He knew who she was, naturally. Even if he hasn't been researching the Old Clans, her face was impossible not to recognize these days; the city was overflown with the advertisements for her new show. He always regretted that he didn't have a chance to visit one of her programs when she had been still dancing, prior to the mysterious reclusive stunt she was doing for the last four years or so, and he was determined not to miss his chance now, when she was on-stage again. Despite her relatively young age, she has been somewhat of a legend already; 'the modern fairy who breathed a new life into traditional dancing', as mass media were fond of calling her.

So what was Aren Denar doing in his school? Her politely blank face wasn't yielding any clues; the look of the grey eyes, surrounded by extensive, but impeccable makeup, was steady and mirthless. The only thing he could think of being the cause was this boy, Rodi, whom he took in less than a week ago. But why? What was the relation? She was the only child in her family, as far as he knew. But the boy had said he had a sister...

He bowed, making sure he wouldn't cross the thin line between respectfulness and servility. "Mistress Denar," he said evenly. "It's a great honor. What would you like me to do for you?"

"I want to talk with you," she answered. "Privately," she added firmly.

"Of course. Would you like also to see the school?"

"It would be nice, thank you," she agreed politely.

She took a tour around the working room, observing the equipment and the training weapons on the walls. "What kind of a combat do you teach, Master Vang?"

"Unarmed, mostly. Kajete is my major specialty, but I like some variety from time to time."

"Ah," she said, stopping before a beautifully carved and polished wooden sword. She was moving almost soundlessly and he noticed she wasn't wearing heels. "So that's why it is here?"

"Yes. And also because it belonged to my father."

"Ah," she repeated. Of course, for her it wouldn't require any further explanation. "Do you have some swords available for training around here, too?"

Instead of answering he just opened the long wooden box that was hanging on the wall. Inside were five wooden training swords, all of different styles and size. No cheap duroplastic there; all of them were hand-crafted and made from rare, specially processed wood.

"This is a treasure," she observed admiringly.

"Would you like to try one?"

"Thanks for proposing, Master Vang. I would like it indeed."

She choose a light, only slightly curved saber, handling it competently, and rotated her wrist a couple of times, testing the grip. He got the impression that she was waiting for another proposition.

"Would you like to spar?"

This time she smiled. "Yes, thank you."

She fell into a classic fencing position easily. Although he couldn't help but notice that she was used to fighting with a second blade, probably a dagger or a stiletto – instead of putting her left hand at her side or behind her back she held it bent in elbow alongside her body. They saluted each other and she tapped his sword with her blade slightly, testing his strength, then suddenly twisted her saber in a half-circle around his wider blade, trying to score for his shoulder. And so the game began.

She was a worthy opponent – or she would have been if she wasn't so appallingly out of practice. Her technique was good, albeit lacking in diversity, and her reactions were as quick as his, if not quicker. Her footwork was impeccable too, which wasn't surprising, considering who she was. What proved to be her downfall was the insufficient strength of her arms combined with the tell-telling lack of proper muscle memory so peculiar to anybody who hasn't indulged in a particular complex physical activity for way too long. For a brief, almost shameful moment he considered letting her win, if even once, but dismissed the idea immediately. She would never stand for that. The only way he could gain her approval would be giving as good as he was able to give and hope it would be enough to impress her.

The wooden saber hit the floor for the third time and this time she didn't assume the fighting position after picking it up. She took two steps back, bowed her head briefly and saluted him.

"Thank you, Master Vang," she said seriously. "It was a rare pleasure."

"Same here, Mistress Denar," he answered, bowing to her in turn. "Please, feel free to call on me for a sparring session any time you want. You're quite good, and it would be my pleasure to restore your skills."

"Probably later," she answered, putting the sword back on its bed in the box. "I don't have any physical energy to spare right now."

"How long it had been since you quitted fencing?"

She bit her lip momentarily. "Seven years? No, more. Eight."

"For being eight years out of practice you're not as bad as you might have been."

She shrugged. "It's in my blood." He noticed that although her hair was in disarray, her makeup stayed as immaculate as it had been; she hadn't even broken into a sweat during the session. "Which brings me to the topic I wanted to discuss with you, Master Vang."

He composed himself. The fun part of this visit was obviously over.

"I understand that you made a certain proposition to my brother," she said in a very even voice. "I have to tell you right up the front that I tend to be extremely suspicious of any person who would make such a generous offer to a young man who doesn't have a credit to spare. Even more suspicious is allowing him to bring a baby into this temple of refined martial artistry."

"Your brother is exceptionally talented, Mistress Denar," he answered, trying his best not to get offended at her implications. They were more than half correct, after all. "I didn't have such a promising student in, quite possibly, my whole life. It's quite a reward in itself."

"I can understand that. However, there is something I want you to know. My brother was severely abused in the past. He was also betrayed and misleaded by someone he regarded as a teacher. Now, I don't want to discuss your motives for taking him for training. They might be as sincere as you had said, in which case my warning would be unnecessary, or they might not be, and in this case, I'm sure, you wouldn't tell me anything anyway. But remember that: if you're planning anything that might cause any pain to my brother or my son, you better disappear from their life immediately. My son is just a baby and my brother can't handle another broken trust. And I'm very protective of my family."

"I hear you," he said solemnly.

"Very well. In this case I shall say my goodbyes."

He didn't answer. What could he said? He didn't want to cause any pain to the boy, to both of them, but she was right, he was planning to use Rodi Segan, and even little Rik, and she had all the right in the world to treat him like she did, and, mighty gods, if he won't get it right, right here, right now, he may just as well forget about his plans and, quite possibly, his life, because this woman wasn't joking, and he knew better than to disregard a threat from someone like she...

"Mistress Denar!"

She was already halfway to the door, but his call stopped her and made her turn to him. One eyebrow lifted up in a silent question.

And he told her everything.

Surprisingly, she didn't get angry at him. She didn't even seem to be particularly displeased. "I appreciate your sincerity, Master Vang," she said after listening to his explanations, which were much less smooth and polished than he would have liked them to be. "We have a long memory. For good as well as bad. That's all I can say to you. Mar sin leibh."

For some reason he had a feeling that he had just passed a test.

"Mistress Denar?" he asked when she was ready to leave again. "What was the reason for this spar? You could have told me all you had wanted to tell from the very beginning."

"If you let me win, there wouldn't have been any talking," she told him over her shoulder, not bothering to turn back fully.

And smiled.

* * *

Notes:

The song that Rik quoted to Miko is 'No Pain No Gain' by Scorpions.

About Kyp's language skills. Fluent Sullustian is listed ashis skill in one of the official game guides. Corellian is my addition because... well, just trust me that it'll be important. :) Huttese, Rodian, Twi'leki - well, I think that anyone who spent 8 years amongst the criminals would know at least some of those languages. Java I added because I thought Luke might want to teach his students some language that most other people won't understand. Just a guess, mind you. :)

Aren used a karabela saber during the spar, master Vang used a simple European longsword.

I want to remind again that now I have an LJ community where I post this fic, and all the important additions to it, like photo galleries for characters, tech specifications, links for music incorporated in the story, etc. There is also a lot of discussions going on and I'm always willing to answer any questions. Just go to LiveJournal and look for kyp durron fic (insert underscores between the words).


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